Heroes, Horses, Hidden Hoards
by Azalea1
Summary: Third instalment in my NightHood series, and the title kinda says it all in a cryptic way, don't you think? Lupin and Kelly have to deal with the title stuff. Enjoy!


1 HEROES, HORSES, HIDDEN HOARDS  
  
1.1 Chapter i  
  
The little party stood at the platform of the train station, grouped tightly together and quite separate from the rest of the crowd milling around them. One of them, a tall young woman with auburn hair, stepped back slightly, clapping one of her companions, a middle-aged man, on the shoulder. She laughed, a musical sound, and her jade-green eyes sparkled as she spoke.  
  
"Well, Grognard, I see that you really are leaving us. Max was hoping that it would all turn out to be some sort of joke."  
  
The man shrugged, a half-smile on his face.  
  
"Well, the boss is sending me there for my own good, he says."  
  
He paused, seeming to reflect.  
  
"La Rochelle… I don't mind. A quiet break after Paris and New York, I must say!"  
  
"You would, I suppose," grumbled a boy of about thirteen to fourteen years, standing somewhat sullenly by Grognard's side. "Who's going to cook all my favourite dishes while you're gone? On holiday?"  
  
"You know, it's not so bad an idea, Max," the young woman said amiably. "Grognard gets the break he deserves after all the excitement of the last few weeks, while resting that arm of his."  
  
She shook her head, and then grinned slyly at the fourth party member.  
  
"Too bad it had to get infected, or I'm sure Lupin wouldn't have insisted…"  
  
"I'm not too sure about that, Kelly", the smartly dressed young man interrupted, a mischievous grin on his face.  
  
"My guess is that I'd have insisted on it sooner or later, whether or not my hired help-" here he cocked a silly look at Grognard- "was in the best of health."  
  
His three companions laughed, and just then the whistle blew. Grognard picked up his bags.  
  
"Well," he said gruffly, "I'm off."  
  
He ruffled Max's hair, and then shook Kelly's hand. Then he turned to the young man with an indescribable expression on his face.  
  
"Arsène Lupin, you take care of yourself, hey Boss?"  
  
Arsène grinned and shook his hand.  
  
"What else do you think I'm an expert at, Grognard? You be careful yourself!"  
  
Moments later Grognard was on the train and the three left behind were weaving their way out of the station. Arsène whispered into the young woman's ear as they made their exit and made their way to where his car, a cream-gold Cord 812, was parked.  
  
"Let's get some lunch, then head back to my apartment, Kelly, so you can take a rest…"  
  
The reporter smirked as she interrupted him.  
  
"First we'll see if you still remember how to drive."  
  
He gave her a playful swat on the shoulder, as Max snickered alongside.  
  
At the New York city harbour, miles away, a tall man in a maroon suit stood watching a large passenger ship glide out into the open sea. As she entered deep water and a blast sounded from her horn, signaling the start of her voyage proper, he smiled grimly to himself and turned, heading for the nearest telephone. He dialed a number, and a few rings later, the call was answered.  
  
"Karst here, what is it?"  
  
The voice was impatient and cold.  
  
"Mr Karst, this is Steel. May Hem is safely on board the ship and off to France."  
  
The man called Steel paused to tuck his handkerchief neatly into his breast pocket, from which it had been protruding, and his pale blonde hair glinted in the sun. He adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles as Karst spoke again.  
  
"Good. I don't want to see her for another three weeks at least. Have you got Rachel Norton out of that private clinic just yet?"  
  
Steel frowned to himself, recalling the trouble that the young brunette schoolteacher had given him and the Countess May Hem in their last assignment. She had refused to provide them information on that annoying reporter Kelly Kincaid after befriending her, even after aggressive measures had been taken to coax her round to it. Now she was recuperating in a secret location; for some reason the boss thought that she might still be of some use.  
  
"Not yet, Mr Karst. I was just going to get to it after this phone call."  
  
"Then get moving, Steel, and I don't want to hear of any 'accidents' along the way this time."  
  
The line went dead.  
  
Steel hung up the receiver, fished a toothpick out of his pocket and stuck it between his lips, his gold eyes glinting in the strong sunlight as he made for his car.  
  
Sitting in his office in the Empire Karst Building in New York, Howard Randolph Karst leaned back in his armchair and took a deep breath. He glared at the ruby-encrusted gold bracelet lying within the dark confines of his desk drawer, and placed his hands together with the fingertips touching as he contemplated.  
  
Caynn gave us the slip the last time… but he's still out there, and so is the hidden treasure… if I can just get to it before Lupin does…  
  
The telephone jangled loudly, interrupting him. He reached out and picked up the receiver, held it to his ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mr Karst, this is Joel Dimont. Your prize gelding has just arrived in Belmont, Sir."  
  
"Okay. Make sure the horse is fine, then call back later tonight. No chances. I have decided to succeed in this business."  
  
"Yes Mr Karst."  
  
Newport, Nantucket Island. A young man with scraggly, unkempt fair hair slouched along the streets alone, weariness in his step. He had the appearance of someone who had seen better days, but who was also capable of handling a down period such as the one he was obviously experiencing. His tanned skin testified of days in the sun, and the muscled leanness of his limbs spoke of just as many days of hard work. He was fit, and looked it. Just now, however, the state of his person left much to be desired.  
  
As afternoon wore on into evening, he left the city streets and turned into a small cafeteria. Sitting down with a tired sigh, he dug around in the pockets of his worn and faded jeans for a few moments before producing a few scraps of paper. He studied them for a few minutes, seeming to slip into a dreamlike state, then got to his feet.  
  
"That's it. I'll go back and be done with the job before anyone else realizes it."  
  
Getting quickly to his feet, much to the annoyance of the shop owner, he pulled his worn jacket closer over his old shirt and walked out again.  
  
"I can figure things between the two of them later…"  
  
A small family who had been sitting across from the table he'd occupied started whispering among themselves, thinking he was mad. His muttering to himself had attracted more attention than he'd realized.  
  
"First I'll make sure that he gets the message- I'm not going to have any more ties with the likes of him…"  
  
Arsène Lupin sat brooding on the edge of Kelly's bed in one of the guest rooms of his penthouse suite. His right hand rested on her left ankle as she lay in peaceful slumber, a slight smile playing on her lips as she slept.  
  
A shaft of silver moonlight was creating some very distracting glints in her red-gold hair, splashed in silken softness over the white pillow, and he blinked as his thoughts were interrupted. She shifted, curling her leg away from his touch and turned so that she was lying on her side. Carefully he rose, drawing the edge of the blanket up across her bare arms, then leaned to plant a feather-light kiss on her cheek.  
  
She stirred, but did not wake. He stole out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Across the corridor, Max lay asleep in another room, content from the sumptuous dinner they'd had. Arsène paused only a moment to hear the boy's rhythmic breathing before heading for the balcony, where he stood staring out into the night sky. From his height he could see the lighted streets and the silhouettes of strolling people, and the starlight glittering in the Seine as it wound its way through Paris.  
  
Can't let it rest… where is Andrew Caynn? Does the treasure exist? What really became of Rachel Norton?  
  
His inquisitive mind turned over each memory, increasing his curiosity and the desire to know more as he realized that he did not have the answers. He decided to find out for himself, if only to satisfy his own insatiable need to know.  
  
1.2 Chapter ii  
  
The doorbell rang harshly through the early morning stillness, shattering the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of the huge mansion on Long Island. From deep within the building a man's voice could be heard cursing.  
  
"Damn! It's too early in the morning for visitors…"  
  
The butler opened the door and let in a smartly dressed gentleman who carried a semi-conscious woman in his arms. He ushered the guest into one of the living rooms and then made his way up the stairs to where the master of the house was dressing in his room.  
  
"Mr Karst, Mr Steel to see you, Sir."  
  
Karst turned around, frowning as he slipped home the last button of his formal business jacket.  
  
"Is there anyone with him?"  
  
"A young lady, Sir."  
  
"Find her secure quarters, and see that she is well-taken care of. But she is not to be allowed to wander around under any circumstances."  
  
"Yes, Mr Karst."  
  
The butler bowed once, then swiftly withdrew himself and went about his assignment. An easy one- the house was big and there were more than enough spare rooms to be converted to 'secure quarters' for the visiting lady. Just post a guard or two, and voila!  
  
Karst smiled grimly to himself as he made his way down to the room where he knew Steel and his guest were awaiting him. Although he was furious with the Countess for yet another botched plan, she had managed to fish out one pretty interesting little piece of information before she had to be shipped off. And somehow, despite his anger, he did hope that she was going to enjoy her little stay in France.  
  
He pushed open the door, left ajar by the butler, and allowed himself a slightly less tight-lipped smile as Steel rose to greet him.  
  
"Clean job, Steel?"  
  
The blond man nodded, then swiveled slightly and gestured to the sofa, where Karst could see a girl clad in a dull grey frock half-reclining along its length. She had a pale, almost translucent quality to her skin, and her fragile limbs were seemingly lifeless. The drear picture was brightened but little by the bright brown of her slightly-past-shoulder-length hair and the hint of large eyes now hidden by the long dark lashes of half-closed lids.  
  
"So that's her, is it?"  
  
"Yes Sir."  
  
"She doesn't look like much, Steel."  
  
Karst sounded annoyed. Steel flinched inwardly.  
  
"Don't underestimate her, Mr Karst. She's tougher than she looks. Besides, she's gotten quite a bit out of form since that time…"  
  
The boss snorted, a noise rife with derision. But he had to admit the woman was tough. It couldn't be so bad that both Steel and May Hem should have failed in the same task if she was really as helpless as she now looked… anyhow, she was still attractive…  
  
He snapped back to attention at the sound of approaching footsteps.  
  
"I'm leaving for Chicago to check on my new purchases, and secure some deals with several important clients. She should be safe here, so I want you to go and see if you can find that damned archaeologist Caynn. Be here nights if you can to make sure that our guest is having an enjoyable stay…"  
  
With that, he swept out of the room. Steel stood alone as the butler hastily entered and helped the dazed girl to her feet, and started out of the room. Inwardly, he whined.  
  
"But Mr Karst, it's a Sunday…"  
  
The telephone rang, and Kelly Kincaid reached out sleepily to pick up the receiver, grumbling slightly that her snooze had been interrupted. She fumbled with it for a few moments before getting it to her ear.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She managed to mumble out a semi-coherent greeting. Her recognition of the voice on the line startled her into life.  
  
"Chief?!" How the hell did he get this number?!  
  
"Kelly, if there's nothing stirring in Paris, get back here as soon as possible. I want you to cover a story on business tycoon Howard Karst's foray into the horse-racing world."  
  
"Why can't Jael or Valencia take that story?"  
  
"Jael's in Morocco on assignment, and Valencia's not familiar with Karst. You are. No arguments, Kelly, get back here. On the double."  
  
The line went dead.  
  
Kelly sat blinking in surprise. How on earth…  
  
A familiar laugh from the doorway caught her attention. A laugh she had grown to love over the past two years or so. A laugh that was easy and sincere, enthusiastic and real, like a child's, and yet controlled and mature. With that baritone hint to it, from the voice of its owner.  
  
She turned to face the open door.  
  
"Arsène! You're up early. How-"  
  
"How do you like my little trick? Joe Horne called your apartment."  
  
He cut her off, grinning from ear to ear, almost. She had to smile.  
  
"But how…"  
  
"Ah, Kelly, you don't need to worry your pretty little head about how I do what I do. But do you like it? I thought you might find it useful."  
  
He slipped into the room, half-closing the door behind him, and planted himself on the bed where he caught her gaze in his.  
  
Kelly narrowed her eyes slightly and shifted so that she was facing him more comfortably. She stared back at him, noting how the pooling depths of his clear blue pupils reflected the jade green of her own.  
  
"Useful? Only that?"  
  
She smirked at him, holding his gaze.  
  
"Methought, Monsieur Lupin, that you would have meant it to be more than just 'useful' to Miss Kincaid… let's see… 'tempting' would be the word…"  
  
Arsène shook his head, still grinning. The fold of his housecoat, tied but loosely at his waist, did little to conceal his broad, well-toned shoulders. Kelly, smirking even more now, flickered her gaze onto his throat and back again.  
  
"My dear Kelly, do you realize how evil you look?"  
  
He was laughing now, and as her own musical peals began to ring, he stood up. Turning back towards the door, he said,  
  
"I'll leave you to dress, Kelly, while I ensure that you have seats on a much-needed flight to New York within the next three hours. I trust you'll enjoy your flight?"  
  
Her eyes widening as she straightened up, Kelly almost whined,  
  
"But how could you know that?"  
  
Her only answer was a receding chuckle.  
  
A slight jerk woke Arsène from his light slumber. Half annoyed, he tried lamely to muster up enough nastiness to glare at the offending party, the child passenger who was his next-door neighbour on this flight. His natural liking for children, however, made it too difficult, and he settled back into boring tedium with a sigh.  
  
Kelly and Max were on the very same flight, but they had no idea that he had followed them. He had found it infinitely amusing when they'd responded to his friendly "hello there!" with rather hollow greetings of their own. They did not recognize him. He grinned to himself.  
  
Leaning just a little into the aisle, he could make out Kelly's auburn head some way ahead, resting against the back of her seat. Max, he knew, was beside her, but as yet still required some growth before he could be spotted in a similar way.  
  
At that same moment, the scruffy young man, now no longer as scruffy, was seated in a train carriage en route to a station close to an archaeological site in the North American Desert, and he was holding two pictures in his hand. He stared at them both for a long moment, then sighed and tucked one of them deep inside his wallet. Then he turned his full attention to the one left behind- a faded newspaper photograph of a young woman dressed in a tan suit and trenchcoat, with red hair cut in a medium bob.  
  
"According to reports, she's dead… I may as well forget her and try… Kelly Kincaid."  
  
The young man paused for another moment, then nodded decisively to himself before glancing at his own reflection in the glass window of the train carriage. He was a little shocked by what he saw.  
  
Where had the old him gone? The man who looked back at him had aged, although he still had a secure head of thick blond hair. It had to be the eyes and his overall carriage of himself. He looked somehow haggard, weary, worn and quite the worse for wear.  
  
He patted his wallet. Something had to be done about his appearance, and fast.  
  
It was evening when Rachel Norton finally reached a state of consciousness that restored to her the normal powers of observation and reasoning. Getting up from the large four-poster bed on which she had been lying, she took a good look at the room she was in.  
  
The room was large, and tastefully furnished. There was a sheepskin rug on the floor next to the bed, and beside it lay a pair of dainty bedroom slippers. Across the room from the bed, a simple desk had been placed against the wall, with various pieces of stationery stacked neatly to one side. A large but simple wardrobe lined the adjoining wall, and in the corner to her left was a small piano. Next to it, a potted plant sat gravely atop an elegant little stand.  
  
She looked to her right. A door opened into a personal bathroom, which appeared to be just as well designed. Only one thing was strange.  
  
There were no windows.  
  
Fearfully, she walked across the floor to the main door and tried the knob.  
  
The door was locked.  
  
She backed away from it, her heart beating in a staccato rhythm against her ribs.  
  
Where am I?  
  
Arsène watched from a safe distance as Kelly and Max got into a taxi and drove off. He knew that they would head for the New York Inquirer's main office before heading for home- Kelly's apartment. As the car disappeared into the mainstream of traffic, he turned and headed towards the train station, eagerness in his step as he contemplated the excitement of his next planned activity.  
  
He glanced around him. It was fascinating how the flow of traffic and people never seemed to stop in New York, not even at this unearthly hour. What Kelly expected to achieve by visiting the office now, he was not sure… quite possibly a memo had been left for her to pick up from her desk.  
  
With a tired sigh he settled into one of the benches at the station, wrapping his brown trenchcoat securely about his person to keep out the chill. He would catch the first train to Arizona the next day, but first it was going to be a long night.  
  
1.3 Chapter iii  
  
"Damn."  
  
Kelly was muttering to herself under her breath as she pulled on her pants and buckled them securely at her waist, carefully adjusting her white shirt so that it would look smart and yet not affect her ease of movement. Moving to stand in front of the mirror, she slipped her tie around her neck and proceeded to deftly knot it into shape.  
  
"Damn."  
  
She pushed the tie snugly into place, folded down the well-starched collar of her shirt and shrugged on her tan coat before remembering that she had not yet put on her watch. Snatching the offending item off her desk, she strode out into the living room and yelled.  
  
"Max! Hurry up, we're late!"  
  
It's crazy how just a week of being pampered by Arsène and Grognard can throw me completely off schedule…  
  
"Okay, Kelly… coming…"  
  
The young boy flung himself out of his room with feverish haste, a camera swinging wildly from its strap, which hung around his neck. He made for the door without even waiting for Kelly to move ahead of him, knowing that it was best to save the courtesy for later. It would not do to cross Kelly first thing in the morning back at work.  
  
She was close behind him as he slipped out the door, pausing only to turn the key in the lock. Together they rushed down the corridor and headed back into the streets of New York. Max was shaking his head.  
  
Monday blues…… and how!  
  
Rachel awakened to the sound of gentle knocking on the door. She sat up slowly in the bed, for her body had not yet recovered fully from her past ordeal, and waited expectantly. A moment later, the door opened, and a man dressed in a butler's uniform stood before her.  
  
He smiled, not an unfriendly smile, and bowed slightly.  
  
"Your host, Madame, would like to have the pleasure of your company at breakfast this morning. Would you be so kind as to dress? I will wait for you here whilst you ready yourself."  
  
He gestured to the large wardrobe, then stepped back and closed the door.  
  
Rachel blinked in surprise. It was all so strange and sudden. But she was hungry, and curious to find out who her mysterious host was. Her surroundings were quite luxurious, to say the least. And most of all, she wanted to get out of the oppressive atmosphere of her enclosed quarters.  
  
She got out of bed and opened the wardrobe.  
  
The contents stunned her. Never in her life had she worn such clothing. The materials and designs were the latest and most expensive in fashion, and the range went from casual home-wear to ballgowns. For a moment she hesitated, then with a grin she pulled out a simple white slip dress and a cream housecoat edged with fur.  
  
The butler was waiting as he had promised when she pulled the door open, and he led her down to a large and elegantly furnished dining room where a tall gentleman in a black suit sat awaiting her arrival at the head of the table. As he turned his head and perused her silently for a few moments, Rachel became aware that the butler had silently disappeared from her side and was standing against the wall. Nervously, she faced the stranger.  
  
"Good morning, Miss Norton, I trust that your stay has been comfortable thus far?"  
  
The man gestured for her to sit down facing him, a smile on his face. He had a distinguished look and his manner was refined, and yet she felt that there was something not quite right about him. But she obeyed, and the butler moved to help her into her seat before retiring once again.  
  
"I hope you are not alarmed, Miss Norton, by the means by which you had to be conducted to this place. It is just that… certain measures have to be taken to ensure the, er… confidentiality of this business."  
  
Rachel raised her eyebrows, unconvinced, but did not feel that she could risk saying something against him. She remained silent as breakfast was served and they began to eat. Her host continued to talk throughout the meal.  
  
"If I am correct, Miss Norton, you might be able to help my organization by finding out some information for us. Information that should be accessible to you since you are on familiar terms with some names."  
  
She stopped and looked hard at the man. Unperturbed, not noticing her reaction, he went on.  
  
"Names, should I say, like…" here the man paused for dramatic effect, casting his eyes upon her face, "Kelly Kincaid of the New York Inquirer."  
  
The young brunette put down her fork, folded her napkin deliberately and rose to her feet, her face impassionate.  
  
"I am sorry, Mr..Mr…" she faltered.  
  
"Howard Karst," the man said flatly, irritation in his mien. She lifted her chin higher.  
  
"Mr Karst, I am sorry to tell you that I will not ferret information from a friend of mine for you just because you happen to have treated me kindly." What do I know, anyway?  
  
Her face was a mask, but inside she was panicking. She would not betray Kelly, that much she knew. She had come too far already. The only trouble was that she really didn't know much. But she would never be a spy…  
  
Karst stood, frustration on his face.  
  
"Take Miss Norton back to her room," he said tiredly.  
  
"Ha! Just as I thought. Lunch hour, and those lazy wretches abandon the site. They're growing complacent."  
  
The young man smiled grimly as he surveyed his surroundings. Pride showed on his ruggedly handsome face. All this work, started off by me… they've not done too badly since you left, Andrew Caynn…  
  
He skirted the dig, taking his bearings from the central tent where his former colleagues were now having a break, and headed towards one of the many small clumps of dried vegetation that lay scattered all over the desert floor. Dropping to his knees, he scraped hard at the dirt with a small shovel he'd picked up along the way. It was not long before he found what he had been searching for.  
  
Very carefully, he unearthed a small object wrapped in oilskin and slipped it inside the small pouch-bag he carried slung around his waist. A broad smile on his face, he rose and made his way out of the area, careful to avoid the archaeologists who were now emerging from the main tent and heading back to their work. His day had been fruitful, and he was satisfied- for now.  
  
With a spring in his step Andrew Caynn hurried out of the area and headed back towards the train station, where he would immediately embark on a journey back to New York.  
  
It was evening when he finally settled himself comfortably into his cabin and the train started on its journey. By a stroke of luck he found himself alone, and full of anticipation he carefully began to unwrap the oilskin from around his prize.  
  
Leaf by leaf the paper peeled from the little mudstone object, until it lay in Andrew's lovingly cupped hands. It was a small statue, rudely moulded, but recognizable as being in the shape of a woman. A young girl, actually, and the faded ancient paint that had once richly adorned her figure with fantastic finery was just about visible, with the help of a reasonable amount of intelligent guesswork.  
  
"The princess Ytalli," Andrew breathed, fingers running lightly over the cold, smooth surface. "Mysterious bride of a ancient tribal chief."  
  
Hearing footsteps outside the cabin, he swept the figurine and the oilskin up and bundled them inside his jacket, nervously watching the door. The footsteps passed, faded into the distance. It was just as well that he had the very last cabin in the train. Heaving a sigh, he drew out the little clay princess once again. Holding her up to the dying light that filtered through the windows, he turned her around and around, eyes searching every inch of her mudstone body, as if looking for something.  
  
He failed to find anything by the time night fell.  
  
"Your coffee, Sir."  
  
Footsteps withdrew quickly from the large drawing room where Howard Randolph Karst stood before a blazing fire, watching the flames as they embraced the twisted pieces of kindling in the grate before moving on to the larger logs below. He liked having a fire in the heath when he was relaxing after a hard day's work. Raising his eyes he gazed at the photograph on the mantel, a picture of an exquisite fair-skinned beauty with dark brown eyes and hair. He shook his head.  
  
It would not do him any good to think further. He had met her in Switzerland not two months ago, and there had been a brief affair. She had vanished without trace the day before he returned to the United States.  
  
No wonder that Norton girl has such a hold on me… with her large eyes and brown hair…  
  
With a sigh he turned, walked across the room, picked up the evening copy of the New York Inquirer from where it lay on the coffee table, and sat down in an armchair. Setting the paper on his lap, he reached out to pick up his cup of coffee, frowning as he recalled his short interview with that annoying reporter Kelly Kincaid that afternoon. How she had found her way to the exact location of his car at the Belmont stables he had no idea, but he had found it a more useful thing to have her advertise his involvement with the racing world than having her escorted out.  
  
No doubt the story would be in the evening news.  
  
He opened the paper. The story was there. He scanned it quickly, and satisfied that she had painted a favourable enough picture of him and his business, he moved on to other columns. Columns that interested him much more, for they indicated to him the health of the hundreds of companies he owned all over the world.  
  
1.4 Chapter iv  
  
Through the pre-dawn shadows a dark figure strode, steady and purposeful, silent and powerful. The sentry paused momentarily at the edge of the dig where scattered pieces of equipment and ancient artifacts lay, and then headed back into the shadows of the haphazardly setup tents and other makeshift dwellings.  
  
Flattened against the side of the next bend, Arsène Lupin breathed a small sigh of relief. He had chosen to don a black suit and cape this time in order to aid his movement in the shadows, and it was not that he lacked confidence- rather, he enjoyed letting the thrill of the adventure course through his veins. It had been quite a while since he'd operated alone, without the faithful Grognard on hand to whisk them both out of danger in whatever vehicle was convenient. Now he was back to shifting for himself, and it was not an unpleasant feeling.  
  
He made his way through the darkness, conscious of the growing light, swift and sure of foot. Instinct led him almost straight to the faint trail left in the dusty ground. He followed it, knowing already in his heart that he would find nothing.  
  
At the spot under a forlorn, dried-out clump of vegetation, the scuffed and upturned dirt told him all he needed to know. He knelt, shaking his head gently, while he pulled off his right glove and lightly touched the earth's raw wound. Abruptly a light sparked in his eyes, and he drew himself up to his full height.  
  
1.4.1.1 Karst! It's got to be Karst! … … or is it possible…  
  
Minutes later Arsène was driving out of the desert in his rented vehicle at top speed.  
  
"Come on, Max, let's see if we can get anything out of Joel Dimont, Karst's dealer. I don't know much about horses, and if I'm going to run credible stories on this topic, I'm betting that Dimont is going to be able to help me."  
  
Boy and woman walked briskly through the gathering early-morning crowd of business commuters, eager to get onto the train to Chicago. Max was having a little trouble, for he had part of his breakfast in his hands as they maneuvered their way to the ticket counter. Kelly rescued him by impatiently pulling the camera off his neck and slipping it over her own, so that it would not obstruct his movement any more than was necessary.  
  
Minutes later, as they hurried towards their cabin on board the train, Max finished his sticky bun and spoke up.  
  
"Weren't we going to try and interview Karst again, Kelly?"  
  
"Yes we are, Max… I've got it all perfectly planned out. We'll get him just as he arrives- just before we leave!"  
  
"That's great, Kelly… and I can take the camera now."  
  
She smiled broadly at him as they sat down, and handed him the camera. Max caught a glimmer at her wrist as her upraised right arm caused her jacket sleeve to ride up her arm. He grinned mischievously.  
  
"You finally put that bracelet back on?"  
  
Kelly blushed scarlet. Max bore on, his eyes gleaming.  
  
"Why did you bother to hide it yesterday?"  
  
"Max, quit it."  
  
The mahogany door was flung open, and Karst strode into his office in a hurry.  
  
"Tell the chauffeur he'll have to step on it later," he snapped at his secretary as he stepped behind his desk and frowned at the unfinished jigsaw of the world map that lay spread out on the polished surface. Now it would take even longer to complete…  
  
"Give Dimont a call, make sure that the new horse… what's its name… Wind Dancer, yeah that's it… make sure Wind Dancer is properly taken care of… that animal's a real champion, I bought her from a successful trainer in Europe." Where the hell do they get these cheesy names for their animals…??  
  
He was about to snatch up the file lying beside his desk telephone when he noticed the letter. It was not a business letter.  
  
Strange… why would anyone send me a personal letter?  
  
He picked it up cautiously, but a glance at his watch made him slip it inside his jacket pocket and head for the elevator.  
  
Inside the black limousine Karst relaxed a little and let his chauffeur take over for a while. Leaning back on the leather seat, he drew out the small white envelope and regarded it curiously. The postmark showed that it had been sent in New York itself, so it wasn't the Countess. And Steel would have simply called- he had that privilege. Karst opened the envelope, drew out the single sheet of typewritten paper and began to read.  
  
The next moment, he exploded.  
  
"What!?" he spluttered, almost choking. His aide leaned back from the seat in front, a look of concern on his face.  
  
"The devil! He dares to challenge me…"  
  
He scanned the letter again, trembling in anger, intent on finding some other clue on the whereabouts of the writer, but in vain.  
  
Karst was still furious when he boarded the train to Chicago and settled down in the first-class cabin. Did he but know it, the man whose short missive had instigated him to such choler had only just stepped back onto the busy streets of New York, and was busy getting himself lost in the crowd.  
  
Andrew Caynn trotted along aimlessly for about half an hour, then stopped outside a row of shops with just the hint of a smile on his face. He studied the displays for a while, and then took out his wallet. It would not cost much to do this simple thing; after this he would go and find himself lodgings and employment. Not too difficult to achieve.  
  
Karst was muttering to himself as he sat down at his desk in the temporary office provided of him while he was in Chicago.  
  
Kelly Kincaid is really beginning to get on my nerves… but no matter, there are more pressing engagements at the moment and I don't need to waste my time on her.  
  
He picked up the telephone.  
  
In the house on Long Island, two very different people sat facing each other across a dinner table.  
  
Rachel Norton, her eyes straying back to Steel's hands once again, after perhaps a hundred other times, nervously spooned some casserole into her mouth and chewed carefully. She had been shocked, then terrified, when she found out the identity of her dinner partner for the evening. But nothing was to be done- she could not refuse, and she was hungry.  
  
The telephone rang, rousing Steel from his narrow-eyed reverie, and he rose to answer it, barking, "I'll take it, never you mind" to the maid.  
  
"Mr Karst, this is Steel."  
  
"How's the Norton girl doing?"  
  
Steel cocked his head slightly, training his eyes on the nervous young woman who was watching him and obviously pretending not to.  
  
"She's okay, Mr Karst. But I don't think she'll be too cooperative so soon."  
  
"Fine. Right now, I just want you to step up the efforts in finding Caynn, the scoundrel sent me a note today to say that he's severing ties with us, and that I'll never get the ancient treasure!"  
  
Steel shot Rachel another glance. She shivered as the cold golden eyes fixed onto her once again, and felt as if she would stop breathing. Her greatest fear was that the Countess May Hem might appear, and the uncertainty was fast wearing her out.  
  
1.5 Chapter v  
  
"Sending flowers to yourself, Kincaid?"  
  
Janet Herries' envious sneer carried quite clearly as Kelly and Max entered the office, exhausted from their rushed trip back to New York. Kelly looked chagrined, but was too tired to fire back a retort. Rolling her eyes in irritation, she took a firmer grip on the file she was holding and headed towards her editor's office. She hoped that he would be there- the time was 4.00am and it surprised her that Janet should be in so early.  
  
"We've just enough time to get this in the morning edition, Max, if we hurry," she murmured, sweeping past her table without so much as a glance at it. She knew what Janet was talking about- likely there was a neat little bouquet of long-stemmed red roses lying atop her desk, along with a familiar blue-and-white card.  
  
But Max did not follow her into Joe Horne's office. He stood outside the door for a few long moments after she had entered, transfixed. Then he approached her desk, surprise and curiosity on his bright young face.  
  
Sure enough, there lay a beautiful bouquet- of deep purple gloxinias! He peeped closer, and there among the stems was a flash of white.  
  
1.5.1.1 Huh??  
  
He hurried to meet Kelly as she emerged from the inner office, taking hold of her arm. She was still muttering to herself, unaware of the difference.  
  
"Karst is getting more and more distasteful to interview," she sighed distractedly. "It's just too bad for that beautiful horse- was her name Wind Dancer?- that she has such an owner…"  
  
Max, eyes wide, was tugging impatiently at her sleeve, pointing towards her table.  
  
"Kelly, the flowers…"  
  
The reporter smiled a small, tired smile, one that shone of genuine delight, and blushed slightly.  
  
"I know, Max," she told him gently. "Aren't you quite used to Arsène sending flowers already? I know he hasn't sent them to the office for about a year already, but-"  
  
"Kelly!"  
  
She obeyed, raising her head.  
  
Her jade eyes widened considerably, life returning into her cheeks as the surprise hit her as well. With quick strides she reached the table and stared incredulously at the bright purple petals.  
  
"Look, Kelly, there's a note."  
  
Max pointed out the little white object among the stems. She reached out for it.  
  
"Well then, let's read it."  
  
My dear Kelly,  
  
I hope you like the flowers.  
  
There was no signature.  
  
Kelly turned the card over. It was blank.  
  
"He didn't use his card, then."  
  
"No…" she replied slowly, narrowing her eyes and frowning. "It doesn't even look like his handwriting…"  
  
She turned to Max, who was now grinning excitedly. In dramatic tones he began to imitate Arsène's casual line from one of his accounts of past adventures:  
  
"I have all kinds of writing styles at my disposal."  
  
"Maybe he wanted to surprise you, Kelly."  
  
"Well, he sure did."  
  
Smiling now, she picked up the bouquet. The flowers looked as if they had been left on her desk overnight, but nevertheless were holding out well. She glanced out of the window, lost in thought.  
  
They are beautiful, but is there a special reason for them? I always loved the roses and always will, because of what they signify…  
  
Abruptly she shook herself and shrugged.  
  
"Okay, Max- home, and bed!"  
  
Karst was awake, too, in his hotel room in Chicago. He had had a sleepless night full of strange dreams that he couldn't remember once he'd woken up. It was giving him a headache.  
  
He sighed and sat up in the large double bed, drawing the bedclothes up with him. Directly ahead of him was the dressing table, with its large mirror. He stared at his own reflection.  
  
Not bad for a man past forty, despite the grey hair…  
  
He smiled thinly to himself.  
  
Steel had better find Caynn, and fast! And if luck is on my side, Lupin won't be getting mixed up in this one. After all, Kincaid has been around and as yet there's no sign of him. I want that treasure, and I want it soon.  
  
He glanced at his watch. He had forgotten to remove it when he fell asleep the night before. With a half-groan he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his robe where it hung on a nearby chair.  
  
Somehow I wonder… where the devil is May Hem right now?  
  
Andrew was sitting at a little roadside café when a newspaper boy walked by, calling out his wares. Pausing in the midst of his breakfast, he stopped the boy and purchased a copy of the New York Inquirer. Leaning back comfortably with half-a-cup of hot coffee inside him, he opened the pages and began to read.  
  
Karst Set to Conquer Racing World  
  
Business mogul HR Karst has declared an interest in the world of horse racing, and has begun his conquest with the purchase of two European champions for his stable. Yesterday's arrival was the famous Wind Dancer, the filly that won the Badminton last year in record time. Well-known trainer Joel Dimont has also been swept in as a new employee…  
  
"Well, well, well…"  
  
Andrew scarcely seemed to notice that the report had been signed off by Kelly Kincaid.  
  
"So Karst is going to be doing horse business in Chicago…"  
  
He glared at the headline with growing resentment, his mind working quickly.  
  
Because of you, I lost my job. Because of you, I've lost my woman. Because of you, I am a wanted man… you'll pay for this, Howard Randolph Karst!  
  
The archaeologist fell to polishing off his breakfast as quickly as he could, and then headed straight for the train station.  
  
We'll see which of us knows more about horses, Karst; you or me.  
  
Kelly slept through most of the morning and forced herself out of bed when her alarm clock rang at noon. She could not afford to affect her night's rest if she wanted her body clock to be back in sync by the following day. With great effort she pulled herself out of bed and wearily dragged herself into the shower.  
  
As the warm spray slicked her body wet and she began to relax under the rhythmic patter of the shower droplets against the wall and the shower curtain, she allowed her mind to slide into a more casual state, one that she'd only learned to appreciate not two months since.  
  
It had been after her eventful assignment to that archaeological dig out in the desert, air crash, kidnap and all. A friend of hers had been killed trying to help her, and if not for Arsène's and Grognard's talent and determination, she might not have come out alive either. The whole thing had contributed to her being quite shaken; shaken enough to reconsider the way she lived her life.  
  
Would she be satisfied with it when she looked back in her old age? All the professionalism, the competitiveness, the narrow-mindedness… it had made her crave suddenly the freedom that Arsène had. His carefree and mischievous ways, daredevil habits, full-hearted joy in simple things, his annoying, yet charming confidence (or was it arrogance?) and his devil-may- care attitude. She recalled with great clarity the day long ago when they'd had a fight, and he'd merely cocked his head and looked at her sadly, saying quietly,  
  
"My dear Kelly, wouldn't it be a lot easier to find simplicity, and just enjoy that?"  
  
Yes, she wanted a part of it. She wanted to learn his ways, although she knew that they had been developed through a darker past than she really wanted to believe. At least he had left all that behind him now.  
  
She smiled as her thoughts lighted once again on the purple gloxinias. They were pretty, to be sure, but somehow they just didn't seem to fit in with the way he usually did things. Arsène wasn't exactly what you'd call a predictable person, but he had his habits, and in the two years since their relationship had blossomed, he'd never given her anything but long-stemmed red roses.  
  
It wasn't as if she'd complained. She wasn't bored with them; she knew that they held a deeper meaning for them both, and each time she received them the thought still warmed her heart.  
  
Perhaps he wanted to add some thrill, especially since he isn't around to cheer me up.  
  
Kelly, finished with her bath now, shrugged into her working clothes and prepared to step out of her room. She could already hear Max moving around outside.  
  
The young stable hand stepped out of the tack room, a body brush in his hand. He slipped hurriedly off in the direction of the racehorses' stalls, nodding respectfully to his supervisor as he went. Nothing seemed to be amiss, but Jonathan Steel was not so sure. There was something about the new worker that created a feeling of unrest within him.  
  
Peering out from behind the wall of the tack room, he watched the lad disappear into Wind Dancer's stable premises. Absentmindedly he pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and started chewing on it.  
  
"You don't see anything funny about the new boy, do you, Davis?" he drawled lazily.  
  
"No, Mr Steel, sir… he's young, but he's quite good at his job and eager to please."  
  
The supervisor, a senior stable hand, replied quickly, his hands busy with the polishing of a new snaffle bridle.  
  
Steel snorted, and was about to go on when one of his hirelings tapped on the window, distracting him.  
  
"Mr Karst on the phone for you, Mr Steel!"  
  
Steel growled impatiently to himself, annoyed. But he hurried.  
  
"Steel?"  
  
The tone of Karst's voice just then was completely indescribable. Steel felt a headache coming on.  
  
"Keep an extra eye out for Caynn. Kincaid came in for an interview today, and I have a bad feeling about this. And watch out for that blasted Lupin."  
  
The line went dead.  
  
Chapter vi  
  
"Thank God, Max- it's finally Friday. Hopefully we'll get less to do this weekend. I could really use a break."  
  
Kelly Kincaid was rearranging the paraphernalia on her office desk, preparing to leave for her lunch break. Max hung around her, anxious to be off. As usual, he was feeling hungry. He hovered around her like a moth, silently urging her to quicken her pace.  
  
"Oh all right, Max, I'm just about done-"  
  
"Miss Kincaid? Miss Kelly Kincaid?"  
  
Young woman and adopted son looked up, surprised. Their eyes grew wider still and Max found his jaw threatening to drop as the delivery boy made his way across to where they were, after one of their colleagues had pointed them out.  
  
There in his hands was a huge bunch of bright pink primroses.  
  
Karst leaned back against the plush comfort of the back seat in his luxurious black limousine. His driver had already been told to head straight for his house on Long Island. Tired, but pleased with how his racing plans were coming along thus far, he was now thinking again of how the pretty young brunette being held within his mansion could possibly be of use to him.  
  
From what Steel had been able to report, the girl was comfortable, well treated, and lacked nothing but her freedom. She had grown a little nervous as of late, but that surely stemmed from her constantly being turned away from the exits of her luxurious prison.  
  
Quite possibly, that was a point that might prove more than a little useful to his needs. He would bargain with her, a little childish play and banter to bring her round, and then he would have her eating out of his hand.  
  
Karst allowed himself a low chuckle as he stretched his arms across the backrest, stretching his tired shoulders.  
  
All was quiet in the little cafeteria as Kelly and Max settled into their usual corner. They had eaten here every day for as long as Max could remember, but the routine was so smooth and comfortable that neither of them was tired of it as yet.  
  
The cafeteria was never crowded, but business was brisk enough, and it was easy to go unnoticed there while still enjoying a slow meal. To Kelly, it was a sort of midday reprieve from the rigours of her job.  
  
They had just begun to look through the well-worn menus when a figure stopped by their table and a voice said,  
  
"May I sit down?"  
  
Reporter and cameraman looked up, startled, and then Max squealed in delight. He only just managed to catch himself before exclaiming "Lupin!" aloud. Instead, he scooted over to make way beside him, whispering the name eagerly.  
  
Casually, Arsène folded his blue cape behind him as he sat down facing Kelly. His eyes were shining, as were hers as she met his gaze.  
  
"Arsène, where have you been?" she asked in an eager whisper. "Max has been fretting about your absence…"  
  
"Shh, don't worry about that, Kelly. Did you like the flowers?"  
  
She laughed, and Max joined in.  
  
"Of course I did, you know I always appreciate a token from you…" she paused, a quizzical expression on her flushed face.  
  
"…but why on earth did you make those choices? You know I never get tired of the roses…"  
  
Her voice trailed away as she became aware of the look on his face. It was a mixture of confusion and anger. Max gulped, looking a little frightened.  
  
"Do you mean to tell me you never got the roses?"  
  
Arsène's voice was soft, low, and dangerous.  
  
"I know just as well you that roses hold a special meaning for us. Are you telling me you never got the roses?"  
  
Kelly bit her lip, feeling confused and uncomfortable. His eyes seemed to be burning into her, and she blinked, avoiding his gaze.  
  
"Er… no?"  
  
The gentleman thief drew in a long breath and sat up straight, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, they had softened, but there was a tiny glint of hardness in his pupils. Gentler now, he spoke to Kelly again, for she was obviously bewildered and her posture made her look as if she had shrunk.  
  
"Don't be afraid of me, Kelly… you know I would never blame you. It's just that it seems so impossible…"  
  
Kelly laughed nervously, and her eyes flickered onto the boy seated beside him.  
  
"See now, you've frightened Max."  
  
Arsène pulled the boy to his side with his right arm, an affectionate half- embrace. Max smiled warily up at him.  
  
"Nothing to be afraid of. I got jealous."  
  
His cheeks coloured slightly, but otherwise there was no sign of any other reaction to his confession. Kelly felt her cheeks beginning to burn as the colour rose in them, and she smiled at him, more confident now.  
  
"Well then, we have a new mystery to solve, then, don't we?"  
  
Karst was reclining in his favourite armchair, watching Rachel from the corner of his eye as she nervously flitted from wall to wall in the large living room, like a frightened, homeless bird. She dared not say anything to her host, although it was obvious what her request would be. Tired of watching her, Karst stood up and shook himself slightly, loosening his stiff muscles.  
  
"Would you care to join me for a stroll in the gardens, Miss Norton?"  
  
She stared at him, uncertainty and eagerness fighting in her large, dark brown eyes.  
  
"You mean… I could…"  
  
"Yes you may," Karst said impatiently, holding out his arm towards her. Timidly, she came forward and allowed him to lead her towards the door. He could feel her quivering as his right hand closed on the doorknob, and when the door swung open she fairly leaped out of the house.  
  
Together they made for the winding path that led into the midst of the compound's sprawling gardens. Karst, not particularly fond of the hot afternoon sun, kept to the shady paths. Silence reigned for about ten minutes before both felt the other relax. Karst glanced furtively around, satisfying himself with the knowledge that they were far enough from the house not to be overheard.  
  
"Miss Norton," he began casually but firmly, "I believe you have now had sufficient time to reconsider your answer to my little request. Should you choose to withdraw your last reply?"  
  
He felt her stiffen. It was clear that she remembered all too well what it was he spoke of. Her reply was hesitant.  
  
"Sir, I- I do not know. I do not think I could… break Kelly's trust…"  
  
Karst tried to sweeten the deal.  
  
"You will not be disturbed, you will be living on your own, and we will not restrict your movements…"  
  
She shook her head stubbornly.  
  
"No, Sir, I cannot…"  
  
Karst shook her arm off his, took hold of her wrist, and turned abruptly back towards the mansion.  
  
When Rachel was safely shut up in her room once more, Karst went into his personal study and picked up the telephone. Moments later, Steel picked up at the other end. Karst did not wait for his greeting.  
  
"Now listen here, Steel, I've received news of your being suspicious of our newest employee. Watch him carefully- and as for the Norton girl, I want you to see if you can find a faster way of convincing her to cooperate with us."  
  
Sensing a break, Steel jumped in.  
  
"Mr Karst, I followed that fellow when he suddenly left the stables early this morning, and he spent a long time in both the history and medicinal sections of the public library. After that, he went home, and I've just come back from there…"  
  
"Keep looking, then!" Karst snarled impatiently, and hung up.  
  
Andrew Caynn glanced over his shoulder once again as he prepared to enter his apartment. He was sure he had been followed, but there was no sign of his tail. Instinct was what told him that he had spent the last four hours or so being someone's quarry. Quickly, he turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door and stepped inside.  
  
The hall was dark, and for a moment he felt a shiver of foreboding; but then he remembered that he had closed the curtains before leaving that morning. Securing the door, he then proceeded into his bedroom.  
  
Carelessly he flung his socks in a corner near the door, and was just about to open the cupboard when a voice spoke mockingly in the shadowy darkness.  
  
"You're late. What kept you?"  
  
The young archaeologist spun on his heel, shocked, and then recoiled at the sight of the sinister black figure leaning casually against his desk.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?"  
  
He stammered out the words, afraid but thinking fast, his hands slipping into the side pockets of his open jacket in search of his knife.  
  
The figure laughed, tauntingly, recklessly.  
  
"Leave the knife be, Caynn; I'll still be more than a match for you."  
  
Andrew's fingers froze around the tiny metal hilt as his eyes widened. He tried to speak, but his throat felt constricted and dry.  
  
Languidly, almost gracefully, the figure straightened into the silhouette of a tall, slim man with broad shoulders, still black and featureless in the cool dimness.  
  
"I would leave the burial treasure of Ytalli alone, if I were you. The big guys are in the running for it, why don't you save your own neck while you still have time?"  
  
There was a short pause in which Andrew's heart grew cold at the realization that his unknown visitor knew about his secret quest. As anger began to steal into his brain, the silhouetted figure spoke again, this time in a threatening voice.  
  
"And you'd be wise to stay clear of Kelly Kincaid, my friend."  
  
With a yell of rage Andrew darted forward, but he stopped, bewildered by the speed of his unknown visitor. He had thrown aside the thick curtain and jumped out the open window. But when Andrew rushed over and peered over the sill, there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen.  
  
"So you're back! What news?"  
  
Kelly welcomed Arsène into her apartment with a hug and a very typical question. He had to laugh, but he happened to look up and across the living room, and what he saw made him stop. The girl in his arms felt him stiffen, and stepped back, frowning.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
She turned, looked in the direction he was staring in. She could see nothing amiss.  
  
"Where did that ruby necklace come from?"  
  
He can see it? From here? Kelly glanced up at him doubtfully, troubled now.  
  
"Isn't it from you?"  
  
"It's too large, it doesn't suit you."  
  
Arsène lifted her right hand, fingering the elegant filigree bracelet that encircled it.  
  
"This is the sort of thing I would give you."  
  
He strode across the room and picked up the necklace from the coffee table, his brows furrowed.  
  
"Worse and worse. Half of them are fakes."  
  
He shook his head, and was about to go on, but stopped, glancing out at the gathering dusk. Kelly came near and touched him lightly on the arm.  
  
"It's the weekend… Max is out with a friend…"  
  
Gently but firmly, he plucked her hand from his arm, then turned to face her.  
  
"I'm sorry, Kelly, but I must leave you alone tonight. There are things I must see to that cannot be left to another day."  
  
She scowled at him, annoyed.  
  
"It's about the treasure again, isn't it?"  
  
She stepped away from him, walked across to the sofa.  
  
"Why can't you just leave that alone? Ever since my rescue from Karst's suburban villa the last time, and Caynn disappeared, you've been hounding this stupid treasure. I bet it doesn't even exist. A figment of his imagination."  
  
"And if it isn't?"  
  
Arsène moved slowly towards her, his tone level, but pleading for understanding.  
  
"Not even if you have exclusive rights to the story?"  
  
She scowled harder than ever.  
  
"And if I find out who sent you those gifts…"  
  
"Is that so important? Do you think me fickle, Arsène Lupin?"  
  
Kelly's eyes were flashing, but she remained seated. He stood still, looking back at her with a touch of disappointment.  
  
"No, Kelly," he replied quietly. "But I think you are forgetting where and when we are. This is not Brighton Beach, this is not Paris…"  
  
"And this is not the holiday season, especially for the quarry," she said bitterly.  
  
She turned her head away, not looking at him.  
  
"Go ahead then."  
  
Without a word, he slipped out of the house.  
  
Chapter vii  
  
As stealthy as the slowly lengthening shadows on the barn floor, Arsène Raoul Lupin made his way through the maze of stalls until he saw the large insignia of Karst Enterprises painted boldly on the wall ahead. Pausing to recollect, he frowned to himself.  
  
If my hunch is correct, Caynn will try to do something here this morning; not only does he have access to Karst's precious racehorse, it's race day today. Also, I really got under his collar last night…  
  
He listened quietly. There seemed to be nothing stirring in the vicinity, even after another ten minutes or so. But he waited, confident in his instinct. It had never failed him before and even if it did this time, he was sure he'd be well able to get himself out without trouble.  
  
His patience was rewarded. Out of the shadows on the opposite side of the stables crept a dark figure, a small bag in its hand.  
  
Arsène smiled a small thin smile. Enemy of Karst or not, he would not stoop so low as to willfully condone an act of lawbreaking and sabotage against the man.  
  
I just hope Kelly got the message… and that she's not too angry to take it seriously.  
  
Kelly and Max were sitting in the back seat of a taxi, on their way to Belmont. Max had promptly fallen asleep the moment the doors closed and the driver started up the car, but Kelly sat yawning irritably.  
  
She glanced at her watch. The time was 4.07am. With a grunt, she recalled how the telephone in her bedroom had rung just fifteen minutes ago, and she had woken up to the sound of Arsène's rushed message:  
  
"Make your way down to the Belmont stables as quick as you can for a story."  
  
She glared out of the window, feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation, but dulled by her fatigue.  
  
"This had better be worth it, Lupin," she growled under her breath.  
  
The dark figure moved swiftly down the row of stalls until it reached the famous Wind Dancer's loose box. Arsène saw the shadowy movement as the horse tossed her head and retreated further inside her box.  
  
Caynn's paused too long at the front of that stall…  
  
Arsène straightened, his muscles tensed and at the ready. His eyes were trained on the lone figure. Abruptly the figure stepped back, swung open the stall door and stepped inside. There was a soft clatter of hooves, muffled by the thick layer of straw bedding, and snorting. He sprang forward.  
  
Instinct took over- he was acting before he even really saw what was going on. He leaped over the stall bars and ducked as the big mare reared up, her forelegs slashing the air in panic. His quarry whirled around, startled, and their eyes met. Then Arsène thrust out sharply with his left hand, knocking his opponent's right arm away from the horse's neck in a swinging arc.  
  
Something flashed in the pale light and cracked against the wall. The two men separated, scrambling for safety as the horse, maddened by fear and shock, plunged once around the stall in a tight circle, then reared again and smashed against the manger. Arsène found himself pulling at the stall bars in an effort to avoid the flailing hooves. As he came once again to his feet, his eyes caught on the small object that he had knocked from Andrew's hand, lying cracked and half-hidden in the trampled straw.  
  
He looked up with a jerk. Just across from him Andrew was up, anger glittering in his eyes. Somehow in that split second they stared each other in direct confrontation, and when Wind Dancer suddenly thumped her big body against the side wall with a screaming neigh, they lunged for each other.  
  
The gentleman thief felt hands on his throat and face, but reacted coolly, with swift ease, pulling his adversary up and over himself and inadvertently threw him straight into the racehorse's haunches. Faster than lightning she whipped her head around, small and mean on her long snaked neck, ears flattened against her head. Her teeth tore into Andrew's shoulder, and he screamed in fear and shock, the first sound he had made since he entered the compound.  
  
Voices broke through the stillness in the growing light, shouting for aid, clearly attracted by the racket. Arsène grabbed Andrew by the collar and under one arm, dragging him over the stall door and then vaulting over himself. Hearing footsteps now, he dumped the stunned archaeologist onto the ground below the water trough and turned to run.  
  
His heel crushed something with a crackling sound, and he recognized it as breaking glass. But there was no more time to investigate, and he sprinted off without a backward look. As he disappeared into the depths of the sprawling compound the frenzied screams of the frightened mare still rang in his ears.  
  
What in heaven's name is going on?!  
  
Kelly flung herself out of the taxi, dragging Max along and ignoring the driver's shouts of "Hey, you haven't paid the fare yet!"  
  
Her eyes were on the cluster of stable hands gathered in the courtyard of the stables, surrounding what looked like an ambulance. Holding her press card like a torch, she pushed her way through the crowd and then stopped, surprised.  
  
"Andrew Caynn?!"  
  
He was oblivious to her presence at first, squirming against the others as they tried to get him into the ambulance. He had one hand pressed tightly to his shoulder, where blood still seeped from the ripped flesh, staining his fingers.  
  
"I can get there myself, thank you all very much, I'm not an invalid…"  
  
He was speaking through clenched teeth, Kelly knew. Her heart was pounding. What had happened? What was he even doing here?  
  
Someone was trying to reason with him.  
  
"You don't know what germs there are in them horses' mouths, you better git as quick as you can."  
  
Andrew was bundled into the back of the vehicle, grumbling. Just before the doors closed, he looked out and caught Kelly's gaze. The spark of recognition spread over his face, lighting it up, but neither of them said a word. The next moment, he was gone.  
  
Kelly turned to the other onlookers, notepad and pen ready. Steadying herself, she went back to being a professional.  
  
"Can any of you tell me what happened here?,,,"  
  
Arsène strode down the corridor, his mouth set in a thin line. His face was a mask of concentration, not because he needed to steady himself, but because he was intent on the task at hand. Outside the door of a corner apartment he stopped, slipping his hand into his pocket. Seconds later, he was inside the flat.  
  
Swiftly he retraced his steps of the previous day, heading straight for Andrew's private study. Hidden in a corner under the desk, was a small safe. He knelt and carefully retrieved it, placing it gently in the polished tabletop.  
  
It was not difficult for him to open the safe, and very soon the mechanism shifted with a satisfying click. The gentleman burglar's face softened slightly as he opened the door and drew out a small package wrapped in oilskin and brown paper, tied loosely with twine. He sat back with a satisfied sigh, settling himself comfortably into Andrew's chair. With a satisfied nod, he made sure that the file containing Andrew's notes on the missing treasure was still inside.  
  
Deftly his fingers unknotted the rough string, and peeled away the layers of wrapping to reveal the tiny clay and mudstone statue.  
  
He tossed it in his hand, chuckling as he ran experienced eyes across the little figurine.  
  
"The Princess Ytalli, huh? Let's see how well she hides her secret."  
  
Something made him glance at his watch. The time was 1.03pm. Standing up, he slipped the little statue into his breast pocket, and then made his exit through the window, laughing to himself as he felt the stiffness of a wad of paper against his chest. He had taken care to remove the evidence that he did not want left behind. As he landed on the pavement once more he laughed softly.  
  
"I do believe that Jael's late!"  
  
The young woman flicked some stray strands of her long black hair off her shoulder with a casual toss of her head. in her hands was a small blue and white card.  
  
"Apartment 3-7. This should be it."  
  
She looked at the door, glanced around. All was still, and there likely was no one at home.  
  
"How do I get in, I wonder?"  
  
She absentmindedly rested her hand on the smooth, polished wood, and almost fell over when the door swung open. Stumbling into the empty apartment, her eyes picked out yet another card on the floor in front of her. She picked it up, scanning it quickly.  
  
My dear Miss Jael,  
  
If you will kindly proceed into the study  
  
and look into the open safe,  
  
you will understand about the theft.  
  
The card was signed by Arsène Lupin.  
  
Wind Dancer's stall was swarming with people, combing every inch of it for objects that might harm the valuable horse. Steel picked up the broken syringe, and scuffed at the crushed vial with his foot. His face was as dark as a thundercloud.  
  
His gut told him that the new worker was to blame, but he had seen the fleeing Arsène with his own eyes as he rounded the bend. This kind of dirty playing didn't quite seem like Lupin's style, but the man had definitely been present at the time. Karst was not going to like the news.  
  
The hired men were slowly straggling out now, and the supervisor stopped to report.  
  
"We found nothing else, Sir, besides the poisoned water. The stall's clean."  
  
Steel snorted.  
  
"It had better be. Tell Dimont to get that horse ready- the race begins in an hour."  
  
Kelly Kincaid was sitting at her desk back in her office at the New York Inquirer, smug and satisfied that her story had made the headlines of the morning edition. She grinned to herself as she recalled the sensational phrase: KARST SABOTAGED ON RACE DAY 1! But something was puzzling her. She turned to Max, who had been standing quietly by her side, studying an object in his hands.  
  
"What do you think, Max?"  
  
"I don't know, Kelly… it does seem like his style, but there's no card…"  
  
He opened his hand and displayed the exquisite pair of crystal earrings they had found on her desk when they came in that morning.  
  
She looked doubtful as she took them from him.  
  
"I don't know either. Should I even try them on?"  
  
They were interrupted by the shout of a delivery boy.  
  
"Miss Kelly Kincaid!"  
  
A minute later the reporter and the boy were back at the desk, staring at each other in amazement. A bunch of long stemmed red roses now lay atop the already cluttered table, and in her hand was Arsène's familiar blue and white card.  
  
Max broke the silence.  
  
"Forget the earrings, Kelly; the note!"  
  
She turned it over.  
  
My dear Kelly,  
  
do trust me again and  
  
attend the 3 o'clock race  
  
at Belmont.  
  
~ Arsène  
  
"The 3 o'clock race? But that's impossible! It begins in little more than an hour!"  
  
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Max demanded. "Let's go!"  
  
Back in the comfort of his apartment, Arsène sat studying the little statuette. Clearly Andrew had been unable to uncover the secret the little princess held. And after turning her about in his hands for so long, he hadn't been able to discover anything either.  
  
"The secret lies with Ytalli… it lies with her… so either it isn't with her now, since she no longer lies in the earth…"  
  
Arsène's eyes sparkled with understanding.  
  
"The secret lies with her always because the secret is in her!"  
  
Rising to his feet, he lifted the figurine to about eye level, then dropped it. The statue smashed into a hundred shards as it hit the marble floor.  
  
Joel Dimont was holding Wind Dancer by her bit ring as he prepared himself mentally for the coming race. He was already dressed in his racing silks, the black and white of the Karst insignia. Davis was coming up with the horse's saddle and his riding crop.  
  
The mare was calmer now, but a bit skittish. The run would do her good. She stood obediently as Dimont steadied her with a hand on her neck, and Davis raised the saddle towards her back.  
  
The jockey was smiling. Training Wind Dancer had been a breeze; she really was a good-natured horse, just a bit too spirited at times. Winning today's race would be as sweet an experience as any he'd ever had with his previous charges. He turned to face her, stroking her velvet muzzle, breathing in the spicy sweet scent of the horse.  
  
Suddenly she flung her head up with an angry squeal, hitting him full in the face. Taken by surprise, he fell sprawling onto the ground, bleeding from a split lip and broken nose. Terror etched itself across his face as he looked up to see the mare's forelegs raking the air directly above him as she reared. She had never done that before.  
  
"Hold her down, for God's sake," he yelled at Davis, who'd also been knocked off balance when Wind Dancer exploded into action. The saddle slithered off her sleek back and landed in a heap on the floor.  
  
"She'll be a devil to ride, Mr Dimont," he shouted as the horse screamed again, a terrifying sound, and grabbed hold of her reins before she could begin to buck. "You sure you wanna go on with the race? Your face ain't looking too good…"  
  
"To hell with my nose, it's been broken before. Now hold the damn horse still while I put that saddle on her- the race begins in ten minutes!"  
  
Dimont grimly kept one hand holding hard to the mare's ear as he heaved the saddle onto her back. He realized he couldn't buckle it.  
  
"Do the buckle, will you, Davis," he snapped impatiently, seizing her by the forelock and then the bit ring once again, still holding her ear twisted flat against her head.  
  
Sweat had broken out across her big body, and her eyes were rolling in pain and terror. She shied when the pressure of the saddle on her back was tightened by the buckle, but squealed and stopped when he yanked on the bit ring, dragging the edge against the side of her mouth. Davis noticed, and cast him a glowering stare.  
  
"That ain't no way to treat a prize racehorse, Mr Dimont sir…"  
  
Joel Dimont swung himself up into the saddle, bracing himself hard against the knee rolls as the mare rose skyward again on her hind legs, pawing the air.  
  
"None of your business, Davis," he snapped, fighting to bring her down and sawing hard at the reigns as he felt her body bunching and knew she wanted to buck. She snorted twice, then seemed to become resigned to her fate, and he directed her towards the starting gates at a brisk trot. Davis stood behind, watching them go down the track, shaking his head at the fast disappearing figures.  
  
Max pointed excitedly as the magnificent pair came into sight; the powerful blood-red mare and her rider, emblazoned with white and black.  
  
"There they are, Kelly, just coming into the gates- we've made it in time!"  
  
"Indeed," the reporter murmured, eyes trained on the distant figures, pen poised above paper. "Now if you'll sit down, we'll both be able to watch more clearly…"  
  
The noise of the crowd was beginning to die down, as the pair was ushered into the tiny stall with the barred gate. The other horses and riders had settled in slightly more than three minutes ago, and the track officials, aware that the nervous animals were getting impatient, were anxious to begin the race. The whistle blew as Joel Dimont and Wind Dancer entered the gates, and the huge crowd fell silent. And then the bars dropped…  
  
"They're off!"  
  
Max's cry of delight echoed the commentator's as he failed to resist leaping from his seat at the exhilarating sight of twelve racehorses bolting from the stalls at full speed. The crowd was beginning to roar as fans cheered their favourites.  
  
Wind Dancer was in third place as the top four racers burst from the pack, and steadily picking up speed. Max was beside himself with excitement, dancing around and surely, Kelly thought, making quite a mess of the photographs he was also attempting to take. The cheers grew louder as the blood-red mare moved up alongside the third horse, a chestnut filly called Classical Lady, and then left her behind. As they entered the backstretch she drew near the second horse, the black they called Valkyrie, the crowd went wild.  
  
"Oh, Max, what a story!" Kelly exclaimed. "She's beating them on their home ground in her first race of the season!"  
  
"She'll get Valkyrie, I know she will!"  
  
Max was jumping about, the camera forgotten, as the blood-red mare and her jet-black adversary battled their way into the last turn. There, Valkyrie's rider found himself and his horse being pushed dangerously close to the railings by the unrelenting ride of Dimont and Wind Dancer, and fell back in an attempt to evade injury. Karst's golden pair rushed on, and through her binoculars Kelly could see the grim look on Dimont's set face as he urged his mount on, despite the blood streaming from his nose.  
  
"They're gaining on Masonica now," Kelly intoned to an astounded Max, who'd stopped jumping about in his complete amazement at the mare's speed. "I think she'll win it. They're now in the homestretch…" She found herself unable to go on.  
  
There was a sudden, devastating break in Wind Dancer's stride, and the great horse stumbled heavily. Time seemed to slow to a ghastly, aching pace as all eyes trained upon the scene far out on the racetrack.  
  
The red mare fell forward, eyes wild and terrified, her neck snaking as her head sought to remain up and facing the track. Her speed smashed her into the ground on the knees of her forelegs, and the impact flung Joel Dimont out of the saddle and onto the track some ten feet away. She remained there for an agonizing moment, and then surged upward with a lunging, desperate effort, her eyes glazed. The next moment, she had dropped lifeless to the sandy ground.  
  
There was a complete, horrified silence as the rest of the pack came pounding past at full speed, throwing dust over the two crumpled shapes on the racetrack, sweeping on towards the finish line, where the lead horse Masonica and her rider had already claimed first place. Valkyrie clinched the second spot, but no one was watching.  
  
A graveyard silence reigned as track officials rushed both paramedics and veterinarians out onto the course, and a resounding gasp was heard from the crowd when Wind Dancer was pronounced dead on the spot. Joel Dimont, unconscious and badly hurt, was hustled into an ambulance and rushed to hospital.  
  
Andrew peeped around the corner again. He was still holed up in the hospital after his shoulder wound had been cleaned and dressed. The doctors had insisted on giving him an injection to ward off disease from contamination by the horse's saliva; as a result, he'd had to stay within the premises longer than expected.  
  
He breathed a sigh of relief. Steel was no longer lurking outside. The clock on the wall told him that the time was 3.11pm and surely the professional hitman would have gone to the races at Belmont… but those two goons he had left behind were still there.  
  
Gila and Diesel. An unlikely pair, and an even unlikelier pair of hoodlums. They looked so improbable as they paced outside and waited for him to emerge. He was not really afraid of them, but he was in no mood for a chase. His wound, although painful, was not serious.  
  
He decided to make a run for home. At his first opportunity, he sneaked out of the room and down another corridor, using the cleaning lady and her cart as cover while he made his escape.  
  
Jonathan Steel did not relish the thought of the phone call he was about to make, but it had to be done. He winced as Karst picked up the receiver on the other end.  
  
"Karst here, what is it?"  
  
"Mr Karst, er… I hate to tell you this, but-"  
  
"We lost the race? Damn! What do I pay you and Dimont for?"  
  
Steel decided to risk interrupting his boss.  
  
"The horse is dead, sir, it died on the racetrack, so close to winning. The police say they suspect poisoning- sabotage."  
  
There was a stunned silence, during which Steel could hear his boss breathing. Then Karst snarled,  
  
"And Dimont?!"  
  
"He's in a coma, but he had nothing to do with it, I'd bet."  
  
Karst snorted derisively.  
  
"You're so sure of that, huh?"  
  
"Er, yessir… last night Lupin was snooping around the stables, he and the new worker had a fight of sorts in the loose box. Early this morning, actually…"  
  
"And?!" Karst demanded furiously.  
  
"Kincaid was here after that, Mr Karst. She recognized him as Andrew Caynn."  
  
"WHAT!!?"  
  
Karst could be heard swearing to himself in the background for a while, and then he came back on the line.  
  
"Couldn't you get him arrested? Or take care of him? What do I pay you for?"  
  
"No sir, he's being held at the public hospital-"  
  
Karst cut in again.  
  
"Pin it all on Lupin, then. Once the police are after him… no, wait… get Lupin to pin it on Caynn! That'll get rid of both of them at least for a while. You've got a copy of his card?"  
  
"Right away, Mr Karst."  
  
Max led the way out of the New York Inquirer office, holding Kelly by her forearm. She had a dazed look on her face. Her story had made the headlines on the evening edition, but the news had sickened her.  
  
Her professional stance had only lasted long enough for her to see her story put to print, and now she felt weak and shaken. Max was upset as well, but his training had stood him in good stead, and despite the shock he had had the presence of mind to snap a few good pictures of the dreadful scene.  
  
Joe Horne had praised them both for the coverage, but that had not helped either of them feel any better.  
  
"I don't think I could have dinner tonight, Max," she told the boy wearily as they made their way down to the main entrance of the building.  
  
"Me neither," he replied with a sigh. "Especially not anything with meat in it…"  
  
At the top of the stairs leading down to the pavement and the main road they became aware of a man's presence beside them.  
  
"Lupin?"  
  
Max gave the gentleman a rather lacklustre greeting, and his eyes told the whole story. Kelly said nothing. Arsène paused a moment to give Max a quick but reassuring hug, then turned his attention to her.  
  
He went and stood beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She did not respond, but she neither stiffened nor pulled away.  
  
"Kelly, I'm sorry I sent you on that assignment… I didn't mean for you to witness that…"  
  
She buried her face in his chest as his other arm went around her.  
  
"Hush now, Kelly, it's all right… come, I'll take you and Max home first."  
  
He led them both down to where the Cord was waiting at the curb, her engine purring.  
  
Andrew Caynn hardly knew whether or not to laugh at himself as he sneaked up to his own apartment. The idea itself was absurd! But he could not afford to take chances. Favouring his wounded left shoulder, he was fishing around in his trouser pocket for his keys when he noticed that the main door was open.  
  
Damn that blasted Karst- he must have sent Steel here again to look for the artifact… and after what happened last night, I wouldn't be surprised he'd guessed…  
  
The rush of anger made him reckless, and he pushed the door open and walked in.  
  
Jael half-screamed when she saw him. She had been seated at his desk, poring excitedly over his filed documents, when he burst into the room.  
  
"Andrew!"  
  
"Jael!"  
  
She dropped the file, and its contents fluttered out haphazardly across the linoleum floor. They stared open mouthed at each other. Andrew recovered his tongue first.  
  
"What in blazes are you doing here?!"  
  
"Following up a tip-off, what else?" She retorted hotly, her voice shrill from the shock. "Why don't you explain yourself?"  
  
"This is my apartment, you fool!"  
  
Andrew rushed forward, roughly shoving her out of the way as he made straight for the open safe. Her slight Asian frame caught the unmeaning blow and fell back towards the bookcase at the side, where she suffered some bruising. But she uttered not a sound.  
  
"Nooo!"  
  
Andrew cried out, a sound filled with both fury and despair.  
  
"She's gone- Ytalli's gone!"  
  
He balled up his fists.  
  
"Howard Randolph Karst!"  
  
He turned on Jael in a rage, but before either of them could make another move, the sound of running feet and shouts of "Police!" filtered in through the front door.  
  
Jael glanced out in a panic. Her eyes were so wide you could see the whites shining all around, and her face was pale. Andrew, a hunted look in his mien, paused only for a second, and then scrambled out the window.  
  
Chapter ix  
  
The quietness of the early morning was shattered by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Karst reached over to his bedside table and picked it up, muttering several oaths as he did so. Bloody hell, it's barely 4.00am… which fool is it this time?  
  
"Karst here," he snapped grouchily. "Who is it?"  
  
"It's May Hem," purred the dulcet tones.  
  
He sat up.  
  
"May?! What do you want?"  
  
"Oh, nothing, Mr Karst… I was just wondering, in the light of last night's headlines, did you even consider the information I passed you just before I left?"  
  
"What information?"  
  
"The note in the sealed envelope, Mr Karst. Surely you haven't forgotten?"  
  
"I- no, I haven't…"  
  
"Well then, so long."  
  
The line was cut off. Karst sat for long minutes pondering her words, then rushed to his desk and started searching through the piles of envelopes. Finally, he found the one he wanted. Eagerly, he ripped it open and unfolded the tiny slip of delicately perfumed paper. There, in the Comtesse's elegant handwriting, were the simple words Rachel Norton is Andrew Caynn's fiancée, thought missing.  
  
Rachel sat on the edge of the settee in Karst's living room, her head spinning. She wanted to give him an answer, but her throat seemed to be cut off from the workings of her brain.  
  
"I trust you heard me well enough the first time, Miss Norton? We know who you are, and we know where your fiancé is. I give you my word we will let him off for his crime if you will assist in helping us find Lupin."  
  
She turned around slowly to face him, her face working in a myriad of emotions. Darkness had filled her once-bright eyes. For a long moment the girl and the middle-aged business mogul stared at each other, until finally she lowered her head in a submissive gesture of despair, her spirit shattered.  
  
"When do I leave for New York?"  
  
Karst almost laughed. He hadn't expected it to be that easy.  
  
"Steel will drop you off, he will brief you on what to do."  
  
It was past nine in the morning when Kelly and Max rushed out into the human traffic along the pavements of New York.  
  
"We're going to be late, Max! I didn't think I would be that tired after yesterday…"  
  
"I didn't hear my alarm ring either, Kelly," Max panted as he ran along beside her. "But Joe won't kill us, we don't really need to be on time…"  
  
He stopped as Kelly suddenly pulled to a halt.  
  
"What is it, Kelly?"  
  
She pointed to a lady on the other side of the street, mingling and yet apart from the crowd, seeming to be attempting to hide her face in her collar.  
  
"If I'm not wrong, Max, that woman is none other than Rachel Norton!"  
  
"Rachel Norton?"  
  
Max's mouth fell open in surprise.  
  
"Didn't you tell us she was… dead?"  
  
Kelly's face was white, her eyes straining to keep a hold on the miserable figure.  
  
"Yes… yes I did… and that's why I-"  
  
Abruptly she grabbed Max's hand and dashed across the street, narrowly dodging an oncoming car whose driver leaned out the window and swore.  
  
She let go of him as they reached the other side, and he had a job following her as she darted in and out of the crowd trying to get closer to Rachel. The problem was, the latter seemed to notice that she was being followed, and she had begun to run away. But her run was slow, her steps unsteady and stumbling, and it was not long before the reporter caught up to her.  
  
"Rachel!"  
  
The brunette gave a little scream and tried to twist away, but Kelly had seized her by the wrist and was not about to let go. She yanked her round to face her and looked her straight in the face.  
  
"Rachel, it's me, Kelly!"  
  
The frightened brown eyes met hers briefly, and then Rachel caught her friend around the neck in a hug, half-sobbing.  
  
Max stood watching them for a long moment, then tapped Kelly lightly on the arm.  
  
"I think we should bring her home- we can call the chief and explain later."  
  
"Well well, who's this?"  
  
Arsène's tone was one of mild surprise as he opened the door to admit Kelly, Max and Rachel. He had not expected the reporter and her adopted son to be back so quickly at their apartment; having arrived a little while after they'd left, he had been planning to create a nice surprise for them. The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor had aroused his curiosity, leading him to open the door.  
  
If Kelly was surprised to see him in her apartment, she did not say it. Instead, she beckoned to him to help Rachel to the sofa in the living room while she went to the kitchen to prepare a hot drink. Max tagged along behind the gentleman thief, carrying both Kelly's and Rachel's handbags.  
  
When she emerged bearing a tray with cups of steaming coffee, she found Rachel sobbing out a story to Arsène and Max.  
  
"I don't know… I woke up in hospital, no one knew who brought me there… I got a threatening call last night telling me to get out of my house and never go back… and then when I read yesterday's papers…"  
  
She dissolved into tears. Kelly patted her arm soothingly as Arsène and Max looked on sympathetically, but unable to help.  
  
"L- Jeremy and I will go and check out your home, if you like," she offered, catching Arsène's eye. "You can stay here with Max for the time being. Take a rest in my room, you must have been through hell…"  
  
Rachel nodded dumbly, sniffling as Kelly helped her to her feet and into her bedroom. The two young men could hear her as she settled her guest in and prepared to close the door.  
  
"Just relax, I don't mind… I'll close the door so you'll have some privacy. Just call if you want Max's help…"  
  
Max stared at Arsène.  
  
"D'you think she's for real?" the boy asked doubtfully.  
  
Arsène looked grim, but he shrugged and said nothing. His mind was working quickly, but as yet he had not come to any firm conclusion. Soon Kelly was with them again.  
  
"Max, could you handle things around here for a couple of hours?"  
  
"Sure, Kelly, no problem."  
  
"Good."  
  
She leaned down to where Arsène was still sitting in an armchair, a slightly peeved look on his face.  
  
"Nice outfit, Arsène… can we leave now?"  
  
He had to smile. Even he had become just a little bit tired of his blue suit and cape and today he was wearing a grey jacket and pants with a black turtleneck sweater.  
  
"All right, Kelly, all right…"  
  
"You know the way to Rachel's address?" Kelly teased as Arsène maneuvered his sleek cream-gold car out onto the streets. "I was surprised that you even remembered how to drive."  
  
"My dear Kelly, I don't think my skills are that easily lost or forgotten."  
  
Arsène's tone was lighthearted as he replied with mock sternness. He knew too well that she had learned to read him better over the previous year and also that he was in no way angry with her at the moment.  
  
He was smiling to himself, fully aware that she was watching him with a sparkle in her jade-green eyes. It had been a long time since they had a chance to be alone together...  
  
Or has it only been ten days? Sometimes I swear I'm surprised at myself…  
  
Glancing around, and seeing that the junction was clear, he turned his gaze to her just to catch her eye, when she gasped and clutched at his arm. His head whipped around in response, and he too felt a jolt of fear at the sudden sight of a large black car headed straight towards them at full speed from dead ahead.  
  
Arsène spun the steering wheel as hard as he could; the other vehicle slammed into the Cord from the right corner just as Kelly's petrified shriek pierced into his consciousness. There was the ghastly sound of crumpling metal, accompanied by a fierce pressure on his right foot.  
  
His attention focused on whether or not Kelly was all right, Arsène did not notice the driver of the other car slip out of the wreckage, miraculously unscathed, and disappear into the crowd. It was with shock that he heard the wailing of police sirens filling the air only seconds later.  
  
Kelly's visage was white and strained, full of uncomprehending horror. Arsène glanced down at his own legs, where an attempt to move told him that the crumpled metal had trapped his right foot. Thankfully, there was no real pain. He looked back at Kelly, and she noticed the beads of sweat beginning to form on his temples.  
  
"I'm all right," she told him, an urgent note in her voice. "Something tells me it's Ganimard- please go!"  
  
Gritting his teeth, he pulled, feeling a slight wrenching of the muscles in his ankle when the foot finally slipped out.  
  
"I really have no idea how they got here so fast, Kelly, but don't worry, I'll contact you soon."  
  
He slipped out and quickly vanished into the crowd, limping slightly.  
  
Damn, why'd it have to be the Cord?……… oh no, what will Grognard say?  
  
Kelly started to climb into the driver's seat.  
  
Andrew, who had been skulking around that very area, saw nearly everything. His eyes were trained especially on Kelly, sitting inside the damaged Cord and shaking. The anger that was already smouldering within him was fanned to a roaring flame, especially once he recognized the driver of the other car. He ground his teeth as he mouthed the name under his breath.  
  
"Jonathan Steel!"  
  
Arsène was careful to keep himself well hidden as he slipped off his jacket and disposed of it, then quickly ruffed up his hair a little and stuck on a fake moustache he carried around for quick changes. As he stepped back out onto the street barely a minute later, his sharp eyes noticed several things that filled him with a host of conflicting emotions and thoughts. But first, he had to get away from the scene. Ganimard and Folenfant were already jumping out of the first police car and running towards the wreckage.  
  
"Oh no, Inspector, it's Miss Kelly!"  
  
Sergeant Folenfant was beginning to lose his nerve at the sight of Kelly inside the damaged Cord. As they ran up to her however, she stumbled out of the car to meet them.  
  
"What'll I do?" she cried, wringing her hands and playing the perfect damsel in distress. "It was a borrowed car- Inspector, do you think it can be repaired?"  
  
"Well, Folenfant," Ganimard said with a shrug of his shoulders, "You can stop worrying now; if Miss Kelly is concerned about the car, she can't be badly hurt."  
  
"I'm all right, but the other driver got away! What am I going to do about the car?"  
  
"Wow," Folenfant finally turned his attention away from Kelly. "It's a Cord 812, what a tragedy!"  
  
Ganimard glared at him.  
  
"Folenfant, we've got work to do! The car's not important right now."  
  
Kelly, knowing how Grognard would react if he knew, and also how Arsène would react once the reality sank in, tried to be more insistent.  
  
"Oh, but we can't do that! This friend of mine may be rich, but he's very fond of his car! And it's quite a valuable model too…"  
  
Number one, gotta somehow find a way to restore it; number two, give Lupin time to get away from here…  
  
Ganimard sighed as the other policemen began to gather around. But he had to admit he was impressed when Kelly whipped out her ever-ready pen and notepad and started scribbling.  
  
At that moment Arsène, his face grim, was fighting the crowd and hot on the heels of Andrew Caynn. He did not like the look he had seen in the latter's eyes, it reminded him a little too much of himself in years past.  
  
Some minutes later, after flinging himself into a taxi and giving the improbable command of "Follow that car!", Arsène had time to breathe. And think. As well as check his ankle.  
  
The joint did not seem badly hurt; it appeared to be just a minor sprain, and the swelling was very slight. He carefully eased the foot back into his shoe, shaking his head.  
  
Damn! It had to happen to the Cord… what the hell was Steel doing there at the corner? And that smug look on his face… hmm, it all seems too much of a coincidence, especially with Rachel Norton's reappearance. Is that girl for real? … I wonder how Kelly's handling the mess… ah-ha! Here we are at the train station…  
  
Hitting upon a sudden thought, he darted out of the taxi even before the driver could stop the vehicle properly. The astonished man turned around to see a hundred franc bill lying on the backseat.  
  
Howard Randolph Karst was standing at the platform as the noon train pulled into the station, waiting impatiently for it to come to a stop. He was due in Chicago for a meeting that evening, and he wanted to have some time to himself in his hotel before that. He was taken completely by surprise when a young man suddenly launched himself at him from around the corner of a pillar. His four bodyguards, not expecting this, did not react fast enough to deflect the attack.  
  
Andrew's first move was to take a swipe at the businessman's chest with a knife, but the latter's reflexes were faster than he had expected, and the blade passed harmlessly across the front of his jacket. Karst lost his balance while throwing his weight back, and he toppled to the ground on his back. In a flash Andrew was driving down at him in a stabbing motion, his eyes cold and murderous.  
  
For the first time in his life, Karst knew real fear. He saw the flashing arc of the gleaming blade and imagined he could see his own blood spilling out onto the concrete. He braced himself for the impact.  
  
It never came.  
  
With a flying leap Arsène knocked Andrew off course, grappling with him as he did so. They slammed to the ground just beside the white-faced Karst, and the knife skittered away and fell onto the tracks below the platform. Karst yelled for his bodyguards to get him onto the train fast.  
  
The train stopped, the doors opened. Pandemonium was breaking out on the platform, and several security officers were already heading their way. Disembarking passengers, unaware of the situation, stood around blocking the way as they stared curiously at the two men tussling on the ground. Karst, along with others en route to Chicago and beyond, pulled themselves together and rushed on board, not caring which cabin they were entering. Karst wasn't even bothered that he was not in the first-class area he had booked.  
  
With more effort than he'd expected to use, Arsène pulled Andrew to his feet and pinned his arms behind his back, twisting them to cause enough pain to subdue him. Then he hustled to bundle him away from the scene.  
  
"Coming through, this man's an escaped lunatic- coming through!"  
  
Max knocked lightly on the door of Kelly's bedroom. When he received no response, he hesitantly pushed open the door and put his head in.  
  
Rachel started visibly when she saw him. She had been sitting nervously on the bed beside the telephone, wracked with guilt concerning her mission. Max narrowed his eyes as he noticed her body trembling and saw her eyes darting furtively around the room.  
  
How long has she been sitting by the phone? Can she really be trusted? What if Kelly made a mistake…  
  
He stepped into the room, a vague feeling of hostility creeping into his veins as his suspicion made him feel protective of Kelly's possessions.  
  
"Miss Rachel? Do you need any-"  
  
The telephone rang, making them both jump.  
  
Boy and young woman eyed the instrument warily for long moments while its shrill, strident sound filled the room and seemed to echo. Max's heart was beating wildly.  
  
Why should I be afraid? It could be Lupin for all I know, or Grognard, missing us…  
  
Rachel reached out with shaking fingers and picked up the receiver. She hesitated before holding it to her ear. Max saw her flinch.  
  
"Miss Rachel? I want to congratulate you on a job well done. Unfortunately, Lupin got away this time, but I will let you meet Caynn tomorrow night at the abandoned warehouse on the western city limits."  
  
Steel hung up the phone. Rachel managed a weak "No, I'm sorry, you're mistaken… Miss Kincaid is not at home" before replacing the receiver. Wearily she turned to face Max, who was clearly not convinced. She swallowed nervously, trying to hide the shaking of her hands.  
  
"Er… when is Kelly expected home?"  
  
Arsène had managed to make Andrew sit down quietly in a small, obscure restaurant in the back streets of Paris. Admittedly hungry after all the excitement, they placed their orders while warily regarding each other. As they began on the appetizer, Andrew could hold himself back no more.  
  
"So, are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?"  
  
Arsène sat back comfortably, a lazy smile on his face.  
  
"Patience, my friend… it will all come to light soon enough. Surely you know that your little secret is something I am well familiar with?"  
  
"You!" Andrew hissed. "So it was you! I thought it was Karst-"  
  
"Tsk tsk tsk, I know the man's capable of that, but you really shouldn't jump to conclusions all the time. Rachel doesn't like that."  
  
Andrew's face turned a shade paler.  
  
"And neither does Kelly," Arsène calmly continued.  
  
The archaeologist's expression was now one of complete bewilderment.  
  
"What do you mean?" he stammered. "What does Kelly have to do with any of this?"  
  
"Ah, but you do know, my dear Andrew, and I should like to warn you that continuing to send gifts to Miss Kincaid is something that I do not appreciate very much."  
  
"You mean- you… Kelly…"  
  
"Why yes. Besides, you wouldn't be doing that if you knew that Rachel Norton is still alive-"  
  
"What!?" Andrew gasped. "She's alive?"  
  
"Yes," Arsène went on calmly. "And right now she's sitting in Kelly's apartment grieving over having betrayed her friend to save your life."  
  
"She what!?"  
  
"Oh come now, Andrew, did you really think that Karst would stop at just little old you to get what he wants? You should have known better than that, or you wouldn't have tried to cut ties with him."  
  
By now Andrew was gaping at him, bowled over. His companion languidly removed his monocle and proceeded to carefully polish it with an unused table napkin.  
  
"Rachel and Kelly are friends, Andrew Caynn, and you would be wise not to drive a wedge between them. They've been through a lot; did you know that Rachel was on the same plane that last time?"  
  
Andrew had finally found his voice, and now he spoke in a strangled whisper,  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
His question drew light laughter from the gentleman burglar.  
  
"Who am I? Who am I indeed, mon ami? Monsieur Andrew, what would you say if I told you that I am Arsène Lupin?"  
  
The telephone was ringing again. Max, who was just about to step out the front door, hesitated before kicking off his shoes and running for the noisy instrument. He half hoped that it would not be an unexpected caller, but at the same time, he wanted to know if it was the same stranger he was sure had called Rachel.  
  
He picked up the receiver, held it to his ear.  
  
"Hello," he said cautiously.  
  
"Max!"  
  
"Kelly!"  
  
He never thought he would be so glad to hear her voice.  
  
"Max, if you hear anything about me being in an accident, don't worry, I'm all right. Lupin is all right, but call Grognard if you can and tell him that the Cord's been banged up a bit… I'm trying to get it fixed…"  
  
"Kelly, listen! Rachel's disappeared! She got a weird call just now, I'm sure of it, she was trembling so hard, she couldn't fool me. But she wouldn't say a word… I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, she was gone!"  
  
There was a tense pause, then Kelly's voice trailed back.  
  
"It's all right, Max, it isn't your fault. Just do me a favour; stay put. Call Grognard if you can. And be on the alert. I'm going to look for Rachel."  
  
She hung up. Max shrugged, then walked out into the living room to close the door, straight into the iron grip of Jonathan Steel.  
  
"Arsène Lupin? The Arsène Lupin?"  
  
Andrew looked astonished for a long moment, then laughed nervously, recklessly.  
  
"Oh, come on, do you really expect me to believe that? Kelly Kincaid, ace news reporter, and the famous French jewel thief Arsène Lupin? Arsène Lupin, talking to me?"  
  
"Why yes."  
  
Arsène shrugged and sat back, rubbing his fingertips together in a deliberate manner. His monocle remained on his lap as he raised his eyes and met those of the archaeologist.  
  
Andrew laughed again, looking away, as though he could not accept the reality of what he had just heard. He started rambling to himself.  
  
"Not possible… why should you bother with me? With us? With Karst? What makes you so sure you can convince me just with a bit of accurate information…"  
  
When he turned around, he was alone. On the table where Arsène's plate had been, lay a small piece of paper with a map drawn on it in scratchy pencil lines. At the bottom were the words  
  
My dear Andrew,  
  
This is the map  
  
you've been searching for.  
  
My sincere apologies,  
  
for getting there first.  
  
~ Arsène.  
  
The door was wide open when Kelly Kincaid stepped out of the elevator and turned towards her flat. On the doorstep and out in the corridor were sheets of paper fluttering in the wind. Feeling her heart beginning to beat wildly against her ribs, she ran the last few metres and stared in silent horror at the empty living room.  
  
She knew.  
  
"Oh no… Max!"  
  
She darted into the flat, knowing deep inside that she would not find him. It was simply because she refused to accept it. Reality sank in after she had combed the apartment thoroughly for the third time, finding nothing.  
  
Nothing, except a small piece of paper torn from one of her spare notepads and placed inside the top drawer of her desk. She had found it there on her second search, but had not the heart to read it. If it held some hope, she didn't want to risk it proving itself false.  
  
The writing on it was obviously feminine, and very shaky. Before she even read it, she knew in her heart that it had to be from Rachel. Going into the living room, she noticed for the first time that her own hands were trembling. With a sinking feeling, she sat down on the sofa and held it out, taking a deep breath before reading the little manuscript.  
  
Dear Kelly,  
  
I know I cannot expect you to forgive me for betraying you to the enemy, but I never meant for you to be hurt. Perhaps we should never have met. Andrew Caynn is my fiancé, and I did it to save him. Max suspects me, but I will not betray him, too… I cannot go that far.  
  
~ Rachel  
  
No!  
  
Kelly sat in shocked silence, not knowing what to do, what to think. Rachel had been so loyal while they were trapped together that last time- the time Kelly thought she'd died to save her. Now she was back- and on the side of Karst. And Max had vanished. Was Rachel telling the truth in her letter? Or had she been lying again? Her head hurt, and she felt bone-weary, tired to the very core of her being.  
  
Where are you, Arsène? What do I do now?  
  
Chapter x  
  
The moon was still waning as the first light of dawn crept into the deep purple sky, adding a touch of rosy pink across the distant horizon. The creepy and yet beautiful shadows of ancient, twisted trees stood silhouetted below in the dusky mist, and the air was bitingly cold.  
  
"Someday," Arsène whispered to himself, "Someday I'll bring Kelly here, and we'll watch the sunrise together."  
  
He shifted his weight to his left foot, and the crackle of a twig underfoot brought him sharply back to the task at hand.  
  
"Now, to business!"  
  
The gentleman thief lifted his chin, throwing his head back as his eyes swept up the huge, smooth expanse of rock. Just above eye-level, a faint mark was visible in the worn stone, almost invisible after centuries of weathering. The sign of the Princess Ytalli.  
  
Arsène smiled to himself and opened his hand. The tiny piece of sculptured art was made almost entirely from gold and featured a delicate bird-of- paradise, the sign of the mysterious woman who had married the chieftain. Mysterious because she came from across the sea. No one knew how…  
  
He knelt at the base of the sealed rock-hewn tomb, pulling aside tough little weeds that had anchored themselves there over the years. And there, hidden from view, was a small groove in the rock, one shaped just like the little golden bird he now held in his hand. He slipped it into the groove.  
  
The telephone rang.  
  
Kelly opened her eyes, reaching over to her bedside table and picking up her alarm clock to turn it off.  
  
It was off. The time was 10.00am, and the ringing continued.  
  
"Oh, the telephone…"  
  
She picked up the receiver, hesitating only a moment before holding it to her ear. Rachel's voice almost knocked her out of her bed in shock.  
  
"Kelly?"  
  
"Rachel?!"  
  
"Yes, Kelly, it's me… I'm sorry, I don't have time to explain, but I need you tonight at the western city limits, there's an old warehouse there- Max will be there, I can't explain now. Be there."  
  
The line went dead.  
  
"What on earth?"  
  
Kelly was now sitting bolt upright in her bed, completely lost. But she knew what she was going to do. Her mouth tightened into a thin line as her jade eyes cooled and hardened into chlorine ice.  
  
It was going to be a long wait.  
  
The archaeologist, too young, too old, sighed wearily to himself as he contemplated the map in his hands for about the hundredth time in the past twelve hours. And turned again to the note he'd found pinned to his study table with a knife.  
  
Come to the old warehouse  
  
at the western city limits  
  
tonight at midnight  
  
if you want to see Rachel again.  
  
It bore no signature, but he knew who it was from.  
  
Karst!  
  
Knowing the way that oily excuse for a businessman usually worked, it would serve him no purpose to reach the designated spot early. Unless he planned to launch a surprise attack, one which Steel and his other thugs were all- too-prepared for.  
  
He shook his head. Something told him that Kelly Kincaid would somehow show up there as well, but he had come round to seeing the point laid before him by the mysterious lunch companion he'd had just yesterday, and he would leave her well alone.  
  
Arsène Lupin indeed! As if that snappily-dressed, slim young body and those chiseled, almost elegant features could really belong to the infamous jewel thief whose daring exploits had astounded the press and police for more than a decade! The man must be insane.  
  
But insane or not, he had told the truth, and he was certainly no fool. His abilities were also quite obviously real, for it was now quite clear that he had to have been the one to break into Andrew's house and stolen the statue of Ytalli… And somehow, Andrew felt that he must trust him to make things right…  
  
Max struggled against his bonds, but his heart wasn't really in it. How many times had he tried it during the past twenty hours or so, and failed? What irked him was the absolutely pathetic way he'd been surprised and captured by that infernal gangster Steel.  
  
At the rate I'm going, I'll never be like Lupin…  
  
Angry now, not only at the situation but also at himself, Max kicked out viciously when he heard the footsteps passing beside him. It was with satisfaction that he heard a cry, then a thump which told him that his blow had either knocked his victim off balance and into the wall, or down onto the floor itself.  
  
His satisfaction didn't last.  
  
The hard end of a boot struck him in the side and he doubled over, gasping in pain, biting hard into his gag to stop himself from crying out.  
  
A cold, cruel woman's voice rang out, touched with wrath.  
  
"Do that to me again, sonnyboy, and I'll do more than just kick you aside."  
  
It was May Hem. She was back.  
  
Rachel Norton trudged down the last of the dark lanes leading in among the score of abandoned warehouses along the city limits, her legs laden with lead. Beyond the high barbwire fence she could see the countryside spreading forth and the large roads leading to the neighbouring cities like Newark and Philadelphia.  
  
She did not notice the shadowy figure trailing her cautiously from behind.  
  
Arsène was wondering why they were all converging on one point. From his vantage behind Rachel, one of alternating height and open space (thank goodness for the shadows!), he had noticed the unmistakable silhouettes of Andrew and Kelly following different routes, but clearly headed for the same destination.  
  
I hope Kelly knows what she's doing… thankfully, I got back in time to see the little Miss Norton go hot-footing it for a taxi like her life depended on it…  
  
"Hold still, you little twerp," May snarled as she adjusted the ropes that tied Max to the vertical iron bar. "Don't waste my time, I've got better things to do."  
  
With a last malicious tug, she stood and turned to go. Steel cleared his throat. She stopped and inclined her head slightly towards him.  
  
"I don't know why you're back early, May Hem, but you better not try anything funny in my operations this time."  
  
She rolled her eyes, insolently tossed her head, and stalked away.  
  
"We'll see how you handle it in the end, then. So long! The boss is waiting."  
  
Steel growled under his breath as he walked over and ripped off Max's blindfold. The boy blinked rapidly in the sudden light, shaking his head vigorously, then scowling as Steel's hard features swam into his vision.  
  
Just you wait, Steel… Kelly and Lupin will be here, and then you'll be sorry!  
  
"Is anyone here?"  
  
Rachel gingerly pushed open the door on the ground floor of the old warehouse and peered in. She saw that she'd entered from the south entrance, at the back of the derelict building. There was no reply, so she timidly entered and made her way up towards the front, where an old spiral staircase of metal led up to the second storey.  
  
She glanced at her watch as she placed her foot on the first step, noting that the time was 11.58pm. She set her jaw and went on.  
  
From behind her, a shadow slipped unseen into the darkness.  
  
"They're here. Just sit tight and behave yourself."  
  
Steel turned and strode off towards the small rooms across the corridor where Max stood helpless. The young boy struggled again, half-heartedly, but he sensed it now that things would turn out all right… even though it didn't look that way…  
  
Kelly had secreted herself in a corner of the second floor, rather close to the stairs, and she was startled when two things flashed before her eyes.  
  
Firstly, she caught sight of Max, lashed firmly to a thin metal pillar of sorts, gagged.  
  
Secondly, Rachel was coming up the stairs; and diagonally above her, hidden behind a bend, crouched Steel, waiting for her.  
  
She steadied herself, knowing no good would come out of her making a commotion. Gritting her teeth, she waited, slipping one hand inside her purse and feeling for the knife she'd placed inside.  
  
Steel pounced on Rachel as she stepped up onto the landing. Kelly heard her shriek of dismay, watched her struggle vainly in his grip, watched Max squirm in helpless fury… saw Andrew Caynn appear at the top of the stairs!  
  
Steel saw him too, and hesitated, then swung Rachel into a stranglehold in front of him, whipping out a gun and resting it against her temple. Taking this as her cue, Kelly charged out of her hiding place, knife at the ready, and drove at Steel.  
  
Arsène watched the whole scene unfolding with a kind of horror in his eyes, especially when Kelly suddenly leaped into the picture. Andrew had an expression of utter disbelief on his face, and he stood stunned for a moment. Steel swiveled, trying to turn his gun on the reporter, but she dodged past him and went for Max. As she passed him she paused and slashed at his bonds from behind.  
  
Steel fired. The bullet whizzed past, burying itself in the floor beside Kelly, and her face bore a look of panic as she grabbed Max and the two of them made a run for one of the nearby rooms. Steel fired again, and this time Kelly cried out, spinning and almost falling but for Max who reacted quickly and pulled her up. Together they darted into the nearest room and slammed the door.  
  
Arsène's eyes blazed with cold fury as he saw this. But he bided his time and continued his vigil.  
  
Karst's favourite thug followed them to the door, dragging Rachel, who was too terrified and out of breath from his tight grip on her neck to fight him. Andrew snapped out of his shock and rushed over, furious.  
  
"You leave the women out of this, Steel! I know you want me!"  
  
"Andrew!"  
  
Rachel managed to call out, relief and fear obvious in her tremulous voice. Steel snarled under his breath and jerked his arm tighter around her neck, making her gasp and choke.  
  
"Rachel!"  
  
Andrew stopped a few feet from her and Steel when the latter shot him a malignant stare and pressed the gun muzzle against the girl's temple. He shifted his position, using her as a shield, until he was backed against the door of the room in which Kelly and Max cowered.  
  
"Shut up, you stupid bitch," he snapped at his captive, before straightening and calling out to Andrew.  
  
"I'll give you a simple choice, really, Caynn. You can shoot her yourself, or you can let me do it. You know as well as I do that she knows too much."  
  
The archaeologist stared back in consternation. How could he make such a choice? He had thought his fiancée was lost to him, and now that he'd found her again, how could he possibly…  
  
He ventured forward a step.  
  
An ominous click resounded through the silence of the moment as Steel cocked his gun. Andrew stopped. Arsène, from up among the rafters, hefted the rope he'd picked up earlier and weighed it in his hands.  
  
"Come on, Steel, don't do this… I'll tell you everything, I'll go back to working for the boss, just don't do this…"  
  
Steel remained indifferent. Removing his stranglehold from Rachel's neck, he pulled out a second gun from his coat pocket and threw it across the floor at Andrew, then seized her arms behind her back. The weapon skidded across and came to a stop at his feet.  
  
"Go on, Caynn, pick it up. There's only one bullet in there, so don't bother trying anything funny."  
  
"Funny?"  
  
Andrew's voice had a hollow ring to it as he bent down and picked up the cold, shaped metal, cocking it.  
  
"Kelly, give me the knife, let me get at him!"  
  
"No, Max, don't risk it…"  
  
"Come on, Kelly… we need to get you out of this fast, get you to a hospital…"  
  
"Max, it's just a graze… it won't kill me. Out there, someone's going to get killed, and I don't want it to be you."  
  
"Exactly. We've heard it all. And we're behind them…"  
  
"For the last time, Max, no…"  
  
Everything happened at once.  
  
The three on the stair landing saw a dark shape come flying down at them from the ceiling. Rachel screamed in terror. Andrew panicked and dropped the gun over the edge, sending the weapon straight into an old storage can of gasoline, which promptly caught fire from the sparks as it misfired.  
  
Steel saw immediately that it was Arsène, and he pushed Rachel aside in a bid to get a better aim at the avenging figure. She was thrown to the side, off balance, and as she scrabbled for her footing she found herself precariously hanging over the edge. Andrew cried out her name and rushed forward.  
  
Arsène slammed a hard fist into Steel's jaw with more viciousness than he was usually wont to do. The blow stunned the man, knocking him back against the wall.  
  
"That's for Kelly," he hissed under his breath as he whirled and dived off the landing after Rachel, who'd fallen off before Andrew could reach her. The archaeologist now leaned over the railings, aghast.  
  
The ground floor was ablaze as wood, rope and other flammable materials caught alight from the spilt gasoline. There was no sign of either Rachel or Arsène.  
  
"No! Rachel…"  
  
He was about to make for the stairs when he felt cold steel touch itself firmly to the side of his neck.  
  
"Now move it, buster, before all of us get fried. This is the best day of my life- Lupin is finally out of the way…"  
  
He pushed Andrew towards the back exit with a rough jerk.  
  
"Don't worry, once you tell us where the treasure is, we'll make arrangements for you to join your lovely girlfriend…"  
  
Chapter xi  
  
Arsène impatiently helped Rachel to sit down on the pavement against the side of the neighbouring building. She was awake and conscious, but a little dazed and confused.  
  
"Stay here, I'm going back for Kelly."  
  
He darted away.  
  
Max had been listening closely to what was happening outside the door, and after a while he stuck his head out. There was no one in sight. He hurried back inside, where his adopted mother sat in a corner gripping her right arm with her left hand where Steel's bullet had grazed her skin. Blood was staining her white shirt, but not in an overly alarming way, and she looked up as he re-entered.  
  
"We can make a run for it, Kelly…"  
  
The boy stopped as he saw her face brighten and a smile start to form on her lips.  
  
"That won't be necessary, Max."  
  
He spun around.  
  
"Lupin!"  
  
"Yes. And now let's hurry."  
  
The gentleman burglar quickly strode forward and scooped Kelly up in his arms despite her protests that she could still walk on her own, and thank you very much.  
  
"Let's go!"  
  
Together they fled the burning building.  
  
When they reached the spot where he'd left Rachel, the brunette jumped up and rushed to greet them.  
  
"Where's Andrew? Is he all right?"  
  
"He'll be all right," Arsène grunted as he placed Kelly back on her feet. "Now we have to get a move on."  
  
He led them down another path, to where a car sat waiting, her engine humming.  
  
"The Cord!" cried Kelly in amazement. "But how…?"  
  
"Grognard!"  
  
Max's shout was one of delight as he ran to meet the man who was just emerging from the vehicle. Arsène had a faint grin on his face as he helped Kelly and Rachel along.  
  
"No time to explain now, Kelly- just get into the car. You too, Rachel."  
  
Moments later Grognard floored the accelerator, and the cream-gold car was speeding back towards the heart of New York.  
  
Arsène sighed as he shifted his position in the unusual crowd.  
  
"Good grief, it's just about 12.37am. Good morning, everybody… would anyone like to bet on my going straight back to Paris once this excitement is over?"  
  
They stopped just below Kelly's apartment. There, Max helped the two women out. Arsène had satisfied himself during the journey that Kelly's wound was not serious.  
  
"Karst's people won't be back again so soon. Max, you take care of them both for me. Grognard and I have a bit more work to do."  
  
With that, he wound up the window. The trio on the dark pavement watched until the sound of the Cord's engine had faded away into the distance.  
  
"You should have called me earlier, Boss. I wouldn't have gone if I'd known things were going to get this exciting…"  
  
"Tsk tsk tsk, trust you to take it all so lightly, Grognard. What am I going to do with you?"  
  
"I hear that the Countess May Hem is back early as well."  
  
"Oh yes, I've heard about that. Seems like Karst badly needed the company…"  
  
Grognard laughed, patting the dashboard.  
  
"And I had to cut it short the moment I heard that this baby was hurt!"  
  
Andrew was lying curled up inside a car trunk, bound hand and foot. He had never felt so miserable.  
  
It was my foolhardiness that got me separated from Rachel the first time… and this time it's my cowardice and stupidity that kills her for real! What could be worse? Certainly not losing the treasure to Karst- what good is the treasure if I'm dead… if she's dead? Now I'm gonna be dead, they don't need me anymore, now that they have the map…  
  
The car suddenly jolted to a stop.  
  
What the…  
  
The trunk opened, and a flashlight shone into his face. He flinched, blinking hard as the sudden brightness hurt his eyes. Vaguely, he could make out the silhouettes of two men standing outside, looking in at him.  
  
One of the men raised his hand, pulled back his sleeve slightly, and took a long look at his watch.  
  
"Tsk tsk tsk… really, Andrew, to be fooling around with the bad boys at… 3.41am?"  
  
He recognized that voice.  
  
"Lupin!"  
  
"Ah… I was beginning to think you were never going to believe me…"  
  
Rachel and Kelly took a long last look at each other before the former took off for California with Andrew, who was having a last chat with Arsène, Max and Grognard.  
  
"You were never a traitor, Rachel, don't fret so much."  
  
Kelly gently placed her hands on her friend's shoulders.  
  
"You never meant for bad things to happen. Now we part as friends, and we always will be. Just remember that your name is now Wendy Sterling- don't let Arsène's expertise go to waste." She smiled wickedly as she patted Rachel's purse, which contained her new passport and identity card.  
  
"You want to be invisible to Karst."  
  
Rachel nodded gratefully, a conspiratorial grin on her face as she turned to her fiancé.  
  
"Right. And thank you so much for the wonderful dinner… and the amazing rescue. Do tell Lupin that we're indebted to him… Come on then, An… Gerald, we'd better be going."  
  
"All right, coming."  
  
Andrew shook Arsène's hand warmly, then gave Max a big hug.  
  
"I'm going to miss you guys."  
  
The gentleman thief smiled back at him.  
  
"Don't be too sure about that just yet…"  
  
Karst and May stood shivering in the cold night wind, frowning. The location seemed to be correct, but the tomb appeared to be open. Steel was at the yawning black entrance to the small rock cave, studying the interior by the light of a large flashlight.  
  
The beam swept across the floor, then came to rest on a rectangular blue- and-white object. He bent and picked it up, then handed it to Karst, his face grim.  
  
"Oh, no, not again…"  
  
Karst was quietly seething as he realized the burial chamber of Ytalli was empty, and now he was beginning to get really mad. With May reading over his shoulder, he turned the card over and scanned its elegantly written lines.  
  
My dear Karst,  
  
Hope you had an enjoyable trip up-  
  
The scenery is beautiful, isn't it?  
  
By the way,  
  
I'd stolen the key to the tomb  
  
from Caynn before he even knew he had it.  
  
If you'd still like to see the treasure,  
  
go pay the museum a visit.  
  
Yours, Arsène Lupin.  
  
"LUPIN!!!"  
  
Karst's roar of exasperated fury echoed through the trees on the lonely mountaintop.  
  
The night sky was alight with hundreds of sparkling stars, and a refreshing breeze was blowing. Kelly and Arsène were seated in the balcony of his penthouse suite in the Hotel Grand Central, sipping champagne. He paused and looked back into the living room, where Max and Grognard were busy playing a card game.  
  
"It's great to have things back to normal, don't you think?"  
  
She smiled, then turned back towards the glittery expanse of the sky, not saying anything in reply.  
  
"Whenever you're ready, lady, we'll head back to Paris for a breather, okay?"  
  
Her smile widened as she inclined her head to face him, wisps of her red hair fanning out in the wind, framing her face with a soft outline. When he met her gaze, it turned mischievous.  
  
"My source just told me to go to Paris, where Arsène Lupin has been spotted behaving suspiciously…"  
  
"My dear Kelly," Arsène said with a laugh, "You know I never get spotted 'behaving suspiciously'… I don't even get spotted…"  
  
He took her hand, and his eyes rested for a long moment on the delicate bracelet she wore; she grinned at the look of satisfaction that crept over his face. Then he slipped his free hand into his shirt pocket. Kelly followed him with her eyes, curious.  
  
He drew out a small velvet box, rich red in colour.  
  
"For you, Kelly," he murmured, opening it.  
  
"Oh, but Arsène!" she cried as the brilliant sparkle of gems caught and reflected in her bright green eyes. Wonderingly, she removed a pair of diamond earrings of intricate design.  
  
"Compliments of the princess Ytalli," the gentleman burglar told her with a quiet laugh as he reached out and closed her hand over the jewels, then leaned further to touch a kiss to her forehead. She responded by putting the earrings down on the coffee table and lightly resting her hand on his arm.  
  
"Tomorrow, then?" he asked softly as he drew back slightly and regarded her with loving eyes.  
  
"Tomorrow, Paris," she whispered, and this time the kiss was mutual.  
  
"They're at it again, Grognard."  
  
Max sat grinning beside his adult friend, whose face also showed signs of amusement.  
  
"Forget about talking to Lupin any more tonight, my boy," Grognard told his companion as he rose and made his way to the kitchenette with his coffee mug.  
  
"And you might as well go and pack."  
  
  
  
THE END  
  
Averni_260102 


End file.
